


Be Careful What you Wish For

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adorable dorky Hawke, Anal, Anal first time, Blowjobs, Burns, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hawke is ridiculousy sexy and adorkable, Heavy Angst, Lame humour, Lots of smutty goodness, M/M, Male on Male, Rutting, Self-Harm, Serious Injuries, Sexy Times, Sexy dimples, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the very thing we believe would complete us, is the one things most capable of breaking us. So, be careful what you wish for, Champion...You just might get it, and it might be the one thing that will make that brilliant, dimpled smile of your fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1: and so it begins.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaraF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraF/gifts).



“Hey, Hawke!” Varric tossed an object to the rogue, which he caught without even looking. “Look. Shiny.”

Hawke opened his fingers to look at the item the dwarf had just thrown to him. It was an amulet, a very finely made one. A ruby sat in the middle of an intricate golden filigree setting, so darkly red that it seemed to be black. It was shaped like a heart, and looked to be quite expensive; Hawke weighted it in his hand, along with its delicate but strong chain. It probably had more than a few enchantments too, given the way it made his fingers tingle. He might not be a mage himself, but as Anders had explained once, there was a bit of latent magical talent hidden inside him; it was natural with a family line where magic ran so strong.

He tossed the amulet right back to Varric, who caught it deftly. “It is more suited to a simpering noble princess than to the mighty Champion of Kirkwall,” he said with an easy smile that spoke volumes of how little notice he really gave such titles. “But it will fetch a pretty copper.” He turned to rummage through the chest in front of him again, promptly forgetting about it.

The amulet hit him at the back of his head. “Ouch!” he cried out and rubbed the sore point at the back of his head, pouting at Varric. A playful smile broke free, and his gray eyes twinkled. “Varric!” he pouted like a child. “That made a booboo. Come and kiss it better.”

Varric rolled his eyes; he approached Hawke, bending to pick up the amulet, then slipped it over the young rogue’s head. “Yep. It’s you, princess,” he teased Hawke, who just smiled his usual blinding grin and batted his eyelashes; the playful, easy-going rogue then puckered up and pretended to try and kiss Varric.

“Sorry,” Varric protested pushing the mischievous human away, chuckling. “My heart belongs to Bianca, you know that, Hawke.”

Gabriel Hawke laughed, throwing his head back, then rose to his feet, making Varric have to throw his head way back to look at him in the eyes. “A good thing, too,” he said, absentmindedly tucking the amulet inside his leather armour. “She’s the only one who can keep you in line.”

Varric and he continued teasing and riling each other, laughing wholeheartedly all the way back to Kirkwall, Merrill and Anders trailing not far behind. Unseen to them all, the small amulet now nestled over Hawke’s heart pulsed, a small spark of sentient life alighting in its depths with a malicious, blood-red gleam.

Varric kicked himself over the whole mess later, cursing himself for the impulse to slip the damned thing over Hawke’s head. He couldn’t answer why it was that he had done that, when he was asked, later... Perhaps, the evil in the amulet had been at work from the moment it had been found. Nevertheless, there it sat now, over Hawke’s heart, reading it, gauging it, the entity inside it ruffling over the rogue’s deepest, darkest desires, his wants, his dreams.

And made its plans.

* * *

Gabriel Hawke knew the day would be special; he had woken up in a very good mood. The day showed promise from the word go- Orana had made him his favourite pancakes for breakfast, the sun was shining but it wasn't blistering hot, and –for once – he had managed to locate a pair of socks that matched.

Yes, the day had started on the right foot –which had the other foot in a matching sock, after Maker knew how long- and soon showed promise of getting even better. After a brief scuffle at the Wounded Coast, where none of his merry band of misfits had even gotten so much as nicked, his group began the trek back to Kirkwall. He had managed to locate a spell component Solivitus had been begging him to find for months now, and Anders wasn't reciting his manifesto; instead, he was talking amicably with Merrill, discussing Dalish magic.

Gabriel Hawke was happy...and he hadn't been happy for a long time now, ever since that dreadful week three years ago when he had –in one fell swoop- lost his mother to a deranged necromancer, watched the man he loved walk out on him in the dead of night, and had been forced to go up against one of the most formidable warriors in Thedas, nearly ending up dead himself, after one of his closest friends had stabbed him in the back.

That hadn't actually been the best week of his life- to be frank, it had left a sizable hole of loss and pain in his heart, pain he struggled to hide daily. It had been worse than watching his baby brother die, smashed into the ground like a rag doll in the hands of a monstrous ogre, even worse than watching his sweet-tempered sister being led away to a dismal prison, her soulful brown eyes brimming with tears as she cast him one last look over her shoulder. He had lost so much that week; love, family, trust. One kidney. His faith in happy ever-after, which had -despite everything that life continued to throw in his face- always been strong.

There were nights...nights all alone, in that huge, empty mansion of his, where it had all seemed so pointless, when the oppressive weight of the ghosts of all he had lost came back to squeeze his chest like a vice. Nights when he had struggled to keep up the smiling, cheerful facade he showed to the world. Nights when his smile had faded as soon as he'd walked through the door, to be replaced by a bone-weary sigh. Hawke didn't like feeling like this, like there was no purpose, no person worth living for. He didn't like feeling so bereft, so unloved, so damned lonely. He hated it with conviction, his nature too sunny, too optimistic to easily accept it.

But this day...this day had started out perfect and had only gone uphill from there. For once, his group were as light-hearted as he felt, jokes and laughter going all around, no scowling, no ribbing, no rivalry. For once, no damsels in distress needed rescuing, no dragons needed slaying, no thorny issues needed to be addressed. It looked like a day for new beginnings, a day ripe with promise for better things to come, like the beginning of spring, like the promise of returning life.

Hawke caught himself feeling happy; it had been so long since he had felt it, that he at first hadn't recognised that euphoria in his heart for what it was. His step had been especially light that day, his gray eyed twinkling with joy, his dimpled, boyish smile extra wide and entirely too charming, honestly happy for the first time in years. His companions had been warmed at its sight, realising for the first time how much they'd missed it, and how forced and fake most of his smiles had really been all this time.

For Gabriel Hawke, smiling was just another armour he wore to protect himself, and he wore it so well, and for so long, that few people ever noticed it.

But this day, this bright, glorious day, it was as dazzling and brilliant as the sun itself. His laughter –deep, throaty, joyful- was enough to make everyone more cheery. The way his gray eyes sparkled was enough to make even strangers in the street stop and take notice, and remark that the Champion seemed to have grown more handsome, more attractive somehow. They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but...didn't the Champion look to be in high spirits?

And the day had that just began. Hawke turned his brilliant grin to the sun; it could only get better.

Unnoticed by all, an evil entity observed, and used what little power it could employ to study Hawke. Secretly, cautiously, it gauged its new host's heart, sending an unseen tendril of energy around and through any kind of emotional barriers that the man had erected around his feelings. Underneath he nauseating sense of happiness it found a wealth of pain and disappointment- but that was not what it had been looking for. Hidden even deeper inside, it found want, as vast as an ocean, and love. Pain like that only love that hadn't been returned could cause, that had been scorned and rejected, along with desire- hot, blinding, primal. And one face, one name associated with all of that, one image of a stoic, white-haired elf with expressive green eyes and a deep, molten-caramel voice.

It delved deeper, ruffling through memories like a child looking through kitchen cabinets for hidden sweets. Suddenly, it found what it was looking for; the memories were so sweet, so laced with longing and desire. One night; it savoured the images hidden deep inside the rogue's mind. One night of passion- one night of burning, scorching hot kisses, of hungry hands roaming everywhere, of passionate moans and growling, hissing whispers, one night of passion that had been almost violent in its intensity. It purred, rejoicing. The amulet nestled above Hawke's heart gleamed and started getting slightly warm. This, this the malicious thing nestled inside could use. This desperate want, this craving, it was what fed it, what gave it strength.

It went on, shuffling through the memories to see its host being rejected, being left there staring at the door after his lover had left, a crushed, forlorn look on his face, confusion and hurt in his heart. It saw how it had cost the man to lose the elf, how it had left a hole in his heart that radiated cold and chilled his usual cheerful soul. It measured the depth of that dark hole, and found it bottomless, a chasm of misery, a constant ache that the man had to fight daily to keep hidden, even from his own self.

It took another look at its host, surprised. When it had first been laid on his skin, all it could do was observe his interaction with his friends; it had thought the man was little removed from a clownish happy-go-lucky little fool. But that was just a show, it realised now, examining its young host's heart. This was a man whose passions run as deep and strong as a torrent, a man who didn't give his heart easily, but when he did, he did it wholeheartedly, with nothing held back. It purred in joy; that was exactly the kind of man it needed to break out of its prison. It saw how strong the man was despite his years, how he refused to let anyone catch even the slightest glimpse of his pain, hiding behind humour. It saw how he refused to even acknowledge his own pain, how he comforted himself with useless platitudes. _It will pass_ , the thought kept reverberating in the man's head. The entity inside the amulet heard it, clear as day, and chuckled evilly. _It will be alright. With time, it will get better. Let him go. He didn't love you, he never did, he never will._

The being inside the amulet drew on those emotions, the hopelessness, the desperate, dejected love. It noted the elf's name purring in delight. Fenris. That was just perfect, that was just what the entity was looking for. Unknown to its happy, smiling host, the life force inside the amulet perfected its plans, and set them in motion. The rogue couldn't have known, there was no way to have guessed, but the light-heartedness inside him that day, that only increased as the day progressed, was due to a malicious, evil being drawing his negative emotions like poison from a wound, and using them to feed its waned energy, used them to make itself stronger. Tendrils of magic spread under the rogue's skin, setting the perfect trap. It would only take one touch by the prey the entity craved, however innocent, and those two would be caught in its web, like little flies that would never be able to escape, providing it with endless nourishment.

What a feast they were both going to be!


	2. chapter 2

By the time they had come back to town, Hawke was in such good mood, that he even decided to pay a visit to his uncle Gamlen, to see if the old weasel needed anything other than more money to squander away. He sat there patiently, listening to the man's usual grousing with a small smile on his face, not letting any of the jibes of how the mighty Champion of Kirkwall was leaving his only relative to starve irritate him. He reminded his uncle that he was not to spend all his weekly allowance on whores and drink, and then left, for some reason feeling nothing of the usual annoyance a visit with Gamlen usually left him with. On most occasions, setting foot in that dinky little hovel made him want to go home and scrub until his skin peeled off, but today, nothing could ruin his good mood.

 _Well, maybe this can_ , the thought as he stopped over at the Hanged Man on a whim and walked into Varric's suite to find Fenris and Varric deep in a game of cards, with Isabela watching on and sitting a bit too close to the elf for comfort.

His jovial mood dampened a bit, as he stood at the door, watching Fenris with his head bent over his hand and that little frown of concentration furrowing his dark eyebrows. Hawke's eyes riveted on the golden, baby soft skin on the elf's nape, and immediately a memory came out of nowhere, making his heart clench with longing- that same skin, and how it tasted, salty with the warrior's sweat -and a faint biting tang of lyrium- as Hawke spooned him from behind that night.

He remembered running his mouth over that incredibly smooth skin, nipping slightly, one hand wrapped around the elf's erection, as he thrust inside him; the heat, the amazing tightness, the bliss of that perfect moment. He remembered Fenris' hoarse, velvety voice moaning his name, he recalled the pleasure that had whipped his body, making him see stars.

Eyes riveted on that soft patch of skin over the elf's spirit hide armour, he felt his heart lurch painfully in his chest; longing and pain, desire and heartbreak. Furious with himself for allowing the memory to resurface, he nearly turned on his heel and left, because he knew, speaking with Fenris right now would only rub salt on a wound that had never really closed. Far from it, the wound kept expanding under his skin, in his soul, beneath his usual cheery smile.

Three years. Three years had gone by and just as he thought that he had finally managed to put it behind him and go on, just when he could smile without faking it again, just when he had stopped aching at the thought that for Fenris that night had been nothing but a colossal mistake, _this_ happened. Every time he looked at his heart and thought that it would be alright from there on, that he had finally managed to get over the elven warrior, a memory like this would resurface and prove him a fool.

Maker, he was tired. He was tired of being head over heels in love with a man that wanted nothing to do with him. He was tired of waiting for Fenris to come back- he never would. He had to stop himself from remembering, but it was beyond his power, it seemed. One small smirk, one velvety recital of his name by that chocolate on gravel voice, one glimpse of skin- and Hawke's mind betrayed him. His heart betrayed him.

Damn it, he was pathetic.

He was just about to turn away and return to his empty, mausoleum-like mansion, his good mood ruined, when Varric noticed him and called him over.

Hawke sighed, then smiled brightly, approaching the table. Fenris' eyes rose to meet his, and Hawke's smile brightened even more, pretending, as he always did, that the elf had no effect on him. You had to watch very closely to see the sadness hidden in those twinkling gray eyes, and luckily for Hawke...nobody really cared that much.

"Fenris," he addressed the elf. "We had a reading lesson today, I think. I am sorry for missing it."

The elf shrugged. "I knew you were on a quest, Hawke." He said nothing else, focusing on his hand again, and missed the small twitch the rogue's smiling lips gave.

"Pull up a chair, Hawke," Varric said cordially. "I'll deal you in."

Hawke smiled at the dwarf, noticing out of the corner of his eye how Isabela put a hand on Fenris' thigh and leaned towards him to whisper something- some lewd suggestion, no doubt- in his pointed ear.

"Nah, I think I'll keep the shirt on my back," he answered Varric. "I don't feel lucky tonight."

Varric shrugged, not really paying that much attention, and Hawke looked over all their heads for a few seconds, feeling more alone than he ever had. He shook himself to rid himself of the melancholy mood that had suddenly come over him, and tried to remember the feeling of happiness- of optimism- that had made his step lighter all day.

"How lucky do _you_ feel tonight, tiger?" Isabela murmured to Fenris, who just sent her a chastising, but not completely disinterested look.

Hawke felt something shrivel up and die inside him. Blight take him, he didn't want to hear the answer to that, nor did he want the mental images of Isabela wrapped around Fenris as he took her, his markings glistening for her. He didn't need the image, but it flashed in his head anyway, Fenris pushing Isabela up on a desk, his white hair shading his eyes, his skin sweat-slicked and bathed in a blue glow as he thrust inside the pirate, groaning in that sinfully rich voice of his.

He turned to leave, and accidentally brushed against the elf on his way out, when he stepped to the side to let Norah serve a fresh round of drinks. Something happened just then, a small spark of something cracked between them; Hawke drew in a deep breath, and Fenris' eyes grew slightly wide for just a moment. Norah lost her balance, weighed down as she was with the heavy tray, and Hawke reacted out of instinct, putting his one arm out to steady the waitress, and the other one out to steady himself, as his hurried swivel made him lose his footing.

He blinked as he realised he had grabbed on to Fenris' forearm, then hastily drew his hand away as he saw the look of surprise on the elf's face. He smiled brightly, to cover up for the feeling of want that flashed through his body straight down to his groin.

Fenris looked at the tall human with an unreadable expression on his face, then his face fell back to his usual scowl, making Hawke smile even brighter to conceal the small twinge of sadness and anger towards his own self. Here he was, ever the pathetic fool, mooning over a man that couldn't tolerate even a random, accidental touch by him. He was still hung up on one night of what had been just a casual fuck for the white-haired elf. And the man couldn't even stomach a touch without scowling in disgust.

He quickly hid his pain behind a friendly, wide grin, and a quick joke. "Sorry, Fenris," he winked. "I suggest you wash that arm well tonight. I just touched Gamlen's furniture."

"Eww." Varric shivered. "Better rub some alcohol on it, too, Elf."

Fenris watched Hawke go, with an confused expression on his face. For a moment, he thought he had seen pain behind that dazzling smile. He rubbed the skin on his forearm under the table- the rogue's hand had felt so warm, so familiar. It had evoked memories of that night, of that same hand roaming over his body, of unimaginable pleasure, of tenderness and desire.

Memories he had struggled to put out of his mind for so long, because he thought that Hawke had already forgotten. That casual friendly stance, the affable teasing, that brilliant, cheery smile; they pointed to man that had moved on, that gave no second thought to what had happened all that time ago.

He saw Hawke cast one final look over his shoulder at him and nearly gasped; such hurt in the rogue's pale eyes, such longing. For the first time in three years, Fenris wondered if Hawke had really gotten over it, if the easy, carefree attitude had all been a show, a way to preserve his pride.

He dared ask himself if perhaps Hawke still wanted him and something hard cracked inside his chest at the thought. Maker. The man hadn't started even a casual fling all this time, for all that he knew. And there were always people mooning over Gabriel Hawke, always people –both male and female- that sighed and swooned when he went by. The man was gorgeous after all; tall, well-built but not burly, long-limbed, with the natural grace of a dancer. He was young, maybe even the youngest among them, but he was fully matured, a man at his prime, a healthy, virile young male animal.

Those silvery gray eyes, framed by dark, thick eyelashes, the curtain of pitch-black hair that he casually tied in a low ponytail at the base of his neck. Fenris could still remember the waterfall of ebony tresses that had caressed his body as Hawke trailed those full, smiling lips all over his body. He could still remember how striking, how alluring Hawke's pale skin had looked flushed with pleasure, how his gray eyes had turned to molten pewter with desire. He could still remember his soft, contented smile, the way the rogue had held on to him after falling asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around him.

Maker, those dimples. Those long talented fingers.

His attention was drawn back to the game by Varric's voice calling his name, and with a jolt he realised he had been left staring at the door that Hawke had disappeared though. Shaking his head to clear the images of that one perfect night from his head, he tried to focus on his game, doubt slowly eating away at his insides.

Did Hawke still want him? Because, blight take him, Fenris had never stopped.

* * *

Gabriel Hawke stood in front of his door for the longest time. Damn it, he didn't want to go inside. What for? Other than a slobbering mabari, a skittish elven servant and two dwarves –who were all missing right now, anyway- what did he have waiting for him in this house?

Nothing. No one. Nobody would come ask him how his day had been, or share a glass of wine with him by the fire. For the hundredth time he asked himself why he hadn't sold the damn place after his mother died. It wasn't like the Amell family name meant anything to him, it wasn't that being a noble in Hightown had been any kind of dream of his. That had been his mother's dream, and Bethany's.

He took a look in the distance, where the oppressive shadow of the tower of the Gallows blackened the already dark sky; it was darker than the night, a pitch black gap in the starry expanse over Kirkwall. And somewhere in there was his only sister, the last part of his family that remained, so close, yet so out of his reach. If Bethany were here now, she would know. She would have seen through all the tough act, through the smiles, and know -like she had always known- that her brother needed a comforting word and gentle touch. She would have run that little hand of hers through his hair, and tell him-.

"Are you planning to go inside, Hawke," a voice asked, "or are you going to stand out here all night?"

Hawke jolted at the velvety sound of Fenris' voice coming from the darkness of the alley, then he bent his head and smiled to himself, a little bit sarcastically, a little bit self-mockingly. But for once, he was too tired for lame jokes. For once, he was too sad, too lonely, and too fucking disappointed.

"Nah," he said. "There's nobody waiting for me in there, anyway. I think I'll take a walk."

Fenris masked his surprise at the other man's tone- so far removed from his usual cheerfulness- by grabbing on to his arm. "All alone, in Hightown? Are you suicidal?"

The tall rogue looked down at the gauntleted hand that had grasped on to his forearm and then suddenly, from somewhere deep inside him, anger welled up and nearly choked him. He wrenched his arm away as if the elf's touch had burned him. "Get your hand off me," he hissed. "You don't have the right to touch me. You can't scowl at me for accidentally brushing against you one moment and grab me the next. Make up your mind: you either despise me or you don't. I'm tired of this."

Fenris' hand dropped, and his eyes grew comically wide. "D...Despise you?...Hawke?"

Gabriel took a few deep breaths, chastising himself for his loss of control. "Let it drop, Fenris." He stepped away from the elf, clenching his eyes tightly. "It's been three years...Old news. I wasted enough of my life waiting for you..." He then opened his eyes, mortified at what he had just admitted and offered a bright, toothy grin to the elf, hastily trying to hide behind humour to cover for his blunder. "Let's just pretend I never said what I just said, alright? Let's just say my brain just farted, or something."

Fenris looked at him for a few long moments, taking in the wide grin, and the fact that it didn't reach his gray eyes, the way the rogue was trying for nonchalance, betrayed by the tenseness in his muscled frame. He realised what went on with a jolt of shock: Hawke thought his touch earlier had disgusted him, and for the first time in three years had let himself lash out, and admit that... _vasta faas_. Hawke still wanted him.

All rational thought fled his mind at the elation that spread through his body at that, followed by anger at himself for being such a coward all these years and not even dropping a hint to the other man to let him know how he had regretted the way he had treated him that night, skulking away with his tail between his legs. He fully realised how he had trampled over Hawke's feelings in the wake of the anguish he'd felt at having regained his memories only to lose them again; focused as he'd been on his own pain, he'd failed to see how he'd hurt Hawke, how he'd continued hurting him for three long years.

But no more. No more.

With a low, determined growl vibrating in his chest, he stepped closer, and grabbed onto Hawke's arm again. His markings suddenly alighted, bathing them both in eerie blue glow. Hawke gasped at the predatory look of desire on the elf's face, the determined gleaming in his hooded eyes.

"Hawke," Fenris rasped in his throaty, velvet voice. "I do not despise you. You do _not_ disgust me."

And then his one hand climbed up and wrapped around Hawke's ponytail, and he used it to bring the rogue's head down to him, claiming his lips in a scorching, insanely hot kiss, pushing past the barrier of the man's lips with enough force to make him hiss. The unforgettable taste of Hawke's mouth flooded Fenris' senses, making all the blood in his veins fizzle and stream straight south, leaving him lightheaded. Hawke moaned into the kiss, then surrendered, opening his mouth fully to the assault, twining his tongue with Fenris', a strangled moan of both pleasure and relief escaping him.

Desire broke free like a river breaking the dam that had been caging it for years; it made them both groan, harden, made sweat break free on their skin. Hawke's arms wrapped around Fenris and their bodies came in touch; even separated by armour and clothes, the sensation was blissful, right, like two pieces of a puzzle finally reuniting.

Fenris pushed the taller man against the nearest wall, and the impact jarred Hawke enough to have some sense return to his pleasure-fogged mind. "Maker, Fenris, what are we doing?" he gasped, the shorter man's lips trailing down the corded column of his neck. The elf still had a hand entwined in Hawke's hair, and it used it now to yank Hawke's head back, making the rogue arch his neck to him like an offering. "Fenris, stop!" the human moaned and the elven warrior raised eyes that had grown a rich cypress green with lust to his face.

The unbearable thrum of hunger through Fenris' veins softened a bit at the look of vulnerability in the eyes of a man that was always so strong, so unbeatable. He let go of Hawke's hair, wincing as he realised that he had been hurting the man, then leaned in to nuzzle against his throat. "Command me to go and I shall," he said, swallowing hard as soon as Hawke tensed like a bow at the same words that had been uttered all those years ago.

"I cannot be a casual fuck to you, Fenris," the man's arms tightened around his slim elven body, then unclenched and fell to the side. "I can't take it. Not again."

"You never were," Fenris murmured against Hawke's throat. "Hawke. Shall I go?"

A apprehensive moment of silence, the tall rogue holding himself impossibly tense and silent, before he relaxed with a resigned sigh. One of Gabriel's strong, long-fingered hands rose to slide into Fenris' hair.

Fenris swallowed hard; that look on Hawke face. Such longing and such hopelessness, such resignation. It was as if his eyes were speaking to Fenris. I _know you will hurt me again_ , they were saying, _but I can't help it. I want you too much._ Determined to prove him wrong, Fenris stretched up on his toes, to look deep into those eyes, darkened to charcoal with desire and three years worth of pain.

"Gabriel," he breathed the rogue's name, making him jolt with surprise. Fenris relished the way the name slid against his tongue, the delicious familiarity of using the man's given name; as far as he knew, no one called him by his first name anymore, not since his mother had died. It was intimate, familiar, a wonderfully warm name, soft, strong, beautiful. He said it again, looking deep into Hawke's eyes.

"Maker," the taller man moaned, lowering his head to nuzzle in Fenris hair, his stubbled cheek rubbing against a highly sensitive ear. "I could come in my smalls just by you saying my name."

"Gabriel," Fenris said again, his voice rasping, a knot forming in his throat. He wanted to say so much, admit so much: how he wanted Hawke, how he needed him, how much his whole body was suddenly aflame for him and craving his touch. But he could say nothing more than the human's name, almost moaning it again, until it sounded like a plea and a promise at the same time.

"Damn you," Hawke cursed in a low throaty voice, hoarse from desire. "Damn you for doing this to me, now, here. I was just about to give up on you. I had convinced myself I was fool for waiting."

You were a fool." Gabriel flinched at the matter-of-fact statement. "For waiting without letting me know." Fenris finished. "I thought you had moved on, Hawke. I was mistaken." and it was the last thing he was able to say before Hawke captured his mouth in one of those long, drugging kisses that Fenris remembered from that night long ago. His hand was still in Fenris' hair, cupping the nape of his neck, pulling him towards his hot, insistent mouth. A moan tumbled out of Fenris' mouth as soon as he was allowed a moment to breathe, a moan and Gabriel's name again, before those soft lips meshed with his again, and that wonderfully talented tongue once again explored his mouth; a full-bodied shiver shook Hawke at the sound.

How long did they stand out there in the alley next to Hawke's home, kissing, grinding against each other, moaning each other's name into the night? They both lost track of time; only desire remained, and the bliss of finally being able to touch and kiss again. Steps sounded as a noble passed by while returning to his home, walking hurriedly, and that made them draw away and grow still for a few seconds. Hawke smiled when the echo of the steps faded, then held his hand out to Fenris, his eyes twinkling, his smile blinding.

A smile slowly curled Fenris' mouth before accepting that hand, and allowing it to lead him into Hawke's house, then up the stairs into his bedroom.

* * *

The evil entity inside the amulet, a demon, purred in delight. They were delicious. Absolutely delicious. All that angst and pent-up desire. All that want. All that hurt and guilt; she didn't touch the love, it didn't interest her, but the lust...she had given the elf a push, and he had responded like she had hoped for.

She watched as the couple made it up the stairs to Hawke's bedroom, holding hands like a pair of newlyweds, stopping to kiss once or twice, and snickered. Well, she hoped they would shag like a pair of bunnies on aphrodisiacs. She would definitely be giving them a hand, making sure they kept at it without feeling discomfort or tiredness.

She smiled, a wicked, malicious smile. By the fogged, ravenous looks they were giving each other, she could be sure they would feed her well this night, and the ones to come, until finally she would be able to break free of this amulet she had been caged in.

Lust –for that was the name of the demon inside the amulet- laughed and the jewel grew warmer.

This was going to be so much fun.


	3. chapter 3

Once inside the room, Hawke pushed Fenris against the wall; the smaller man surrendered with a breathless grunt, as the rogue run a hand down his face. The look in Hawke's eyes captivated him; hungry, predatory, eager –but tender and awed at the same time, as if he couldn't believe he was there right then, and running his hand down Fenris' face, over his full lips, down his corded neck.

One hand braced against the wall, next to Fenris' head, Hawke continued tracing the elf's body, his eyes- shining like burnished silver- following the path of his hand, the faint blue glow that it left behind. Down Fenris' chest, over his armour, then over his rippling stomach, coming to rest over his hip. Hawke's eyes rose to find Fenris' burning green ones, and his breath ghosted over the warrior's lips.

"Do you want this?" he asked, his voice a husky murmur.

"Yes," Fenris raised his own hand to caress Hawke's face. "Yes."

The rogue closed his eyes on sigh. "Maker. Are you really here? I won't wake up and..."

"I'm here, Hawke."

As if to prove his words, he closed the distance between their mouths himself, his tongue coming out to lick the other man's plump lower lip, and when Hawke smiled, that enticing dimple on his cheek too. The rogue laughed, then both his arms wrapped around Fenris, squeezing tight. "You really are here," he said. "In all my dreams, you did a lot of things to me, but never licked my dimples."

"A shame, for sure," Fenris repeated the caress, his lips also curling in a lopsided grin. "They are..." a kiss on one dimple, "...absolutely..." a lick on the other one, "...delicious."

"Kisses of an angel, my mother used to say," Hawke murmured, burying his head on Fenris shoulder, carefully avoiding the spikes of his armour. "Can we lose this?" he tugged at the clasps of the elf's leather vest, pouting. "It's spiky."

Fenris pursed his lips not to laugh. It was amazing how much Hawke could be like a child one moment, innocent and bright eyed, horsing around like a five-year old, and a fierce, dominant man the other moment, dangerous and intense. It was amazing how multi-faceted, how complicated he really was under the clownish, cheerful face he showed to the world. There was vulnerability there, strength also, passion. Hawke didn't let people easily in, past his smiling, easy going facade and Fenris felt honoured he was being shown a side of him now.

"It is supposed to be spiky, Hawke" he deadpanned, his voice purposefully condescending. "It's armour, not a teddy bear costume."

Laughter bubbled out of Hawke's mouth, his shoulders started shaking at the mental image. Fenris rolled his eyes, then decided they needed to concentrate on more important issues, mainly the desire that had sparkled between them at the beginning of this night; he leaned in to trail his tongue over the tendons on Hawke's neck, until he reached the underside of his ear, and the cute lobe with the little sparkling diamond earring. Flicking his tongue against it, he breathed into Hawke's ear, then bit down on that tender lobe, nipping it playfully.

It was the invitation Hawke needed to concentrate again; his body shuddered and a whispered "Fenris..." escaped him, before he braced against the wall with both arms again and his nose nuzzled against the elf's. He attacked Fenris' mouth with insistent lips, teeth clanking together as they kissed, tongues slipping against each other in an age old battle.

Long, deft fingers tackled Fenris' buckles and clasps, and before he even knew it, his metal chest piece went clanking to the ground, to be followed by his leather cuirass. Hawke stepped briefly back to grab a fistful of his tunic and drag it over his head, tossing that to the side as well, before stepping close once more; warm, muscled chests touched for the first time, wrenching a deep moan from both men.

Fenris felt his knees almost buckle with desire as two thumbs flicked against his nipples, which were hard as stone, pebbled with want. A mouth followed- warm, wet- tugging and licking and nipping. Fenris groaned at the incredible sensation, then slipped his hands into Hawke's hair and untied the leather band that was holding the rogue's hair into a ponytail. A cascade of long, straight black hair fell on the human's back, as sinfully soft as the richest silk; lust raised its head inside Fenris' gut and bit down, sinking its teeth even deeper into his soul.

" _Venhedis_ ," he groaned. "Hawke." He run his fingers through that silky mass of dark hair, gathering it at Hawke's nape so he could watch his face as he licked and tormented his left nipple, grabbing it between his teeth to pull slightly at it. The feeling was pleasurable enough -and edged with a little bit of pain -to it make Fenris snarl. "Bed," he ordered, "now."

A playful smile lit up Hawke's face and made his gray eyes sparkle. "What is this?" he teased, stepping away to drag Fenris to the bed with him. "Dominant much, tonight, Fenris?"

Fenris stood by the bed to quickly divest himself of his leggings, then shot an insanely hot look to Hawke. "Do you want me to top?" he asked Hawke, noticing with pride how the other man had grown jaw-slacked, his eyes wide and soft with want, his own hand trailing down his belly to where an impressive erection was tenting his breeches.

"Later," Hawke growled, then rose on his knees on the bed to pull Fenris towards him, and into another sizzling kiss. "I'll give you your turn, but later. Right now," he growled into the elf's mouth, "I just need to fuck you."

Fenris cock twitched at the darkly muttered, dominant words, leaking with lust and desire; Maker, Hawke was usually too soft-spoken and laid-back to show this intense, passionate side of his soul, except in battle and, apparently, in bed as well. Fenris could still remember how the rogue had taken him by storm that night, surprising him with his ardent, dominant lovemaking- no quarter given, nothing held back. Tenderness and care, coupled with a mind boggling display of dominance; he had been putty in Hawke's hands, unable to do anything but accept all the rogue had to give him, trembling and moaning.

Fenris didn't like to think about it, and would deny it fervently if accused of it; but the truth was, a little rough handling, a little sting of pain went a long way to excite him. He had always thought it was a remnant of his slave days, that he had been conditioned to enjoy being dominated and resented that part of his sexuality. Lately, however, he had come to realise that the reason was far removed from it. Once he had found confidence in his own self and his abilities, he had realised he was a strong man who wanted an equally strong partner, who needed to feel that his lover was not afraid of him. Hawke had never been afraid of him, had never let his scowling phase him; he knew how far to push him, he knew –with an instinctive, natural ease- how to top him while remaining his equal.

In bed, that translated to a partner that could make Fenris melt into a warm pile of incoherent goo, that knew how to play his body like a fiddle. It wasn't that Fenris didn't enjoy being on top; in fact, he had woken up drenched in sweat one time too many, from erotic dreams in which he had bent Hawke over a table and took him like an animal. That delicate balance of dominance and surrender between them- that was what made the whole experience so intoxicating.

He arched his head back now, as those soft lips trailed over his neck. The little scratching sensation of Hawke's stubble mixing with the softness of his lips and the wetness of his tongue felt heavenly on Fenris' overexcited, sweat-slicked skin. His markings started humming- a pleasant, deep ache, that only fired him up more completely. He felt one of the rogues hands trail down his torso to wrap around his aching shaft, and moaned, low and deep in his chest, shuddering with the force of his desire.

"Maker," Hawke licked under his ear, eliciting another throaty moan. "You sound so sexy when you do this." He slowly pumped Fenris cock, pressing his thumb against the weeping slit at the top on the upstroke. "Moan a little more for me."

Fenris' eyes slitted with a look of defiance; he liked being dominated- but not without a fight. He pushed Hawke back, then climbed on top of him, moving much too quickly even for the lithe rogue. His one hand fisted in the human's long hair, while the other trailed down his chest, to unlace the leather cord keeping his breeches closed.

"Why don't _you_ moan for _me_?" he challenged, slipping his hand inside Hawke's small clothes to palm an erection that was begging to be set free.

Hawke's gray eyes turned to molten pewter with lust and then narrowed; he bit his lip to hold a moan in, as Fenris' hand went lower, cupping him. "Make me," he challenged in turn, and smiled, his cheeks dimpling again, making Fenris' heart flutter.

" _Venhedis_ , stop flashing those dimples at me," Fenris growled. "They make you look like an innocent little boy. I can't concentrate."

"I'm not one, though," Hawke rolled them both over, trapping the elf underneath him. "I think I found my greatest weapon; the mighty warrior Fenris, who can strike fear into the hearts of slavers and magisters...felled by dimples." He leaned in to kiss the smaller man, chuckling. "I have you now."

Fenris smiled too, caught into the adorableness of that happy, joyful smile. "Death by Dimples. What a way to perish."

Hawke smiled once more, before slipping down Fenris' torso; he lingered a little over the inviting hard disk of his nipple, then trailed kisses and little nipping licks down Fenris' rippling stomach. The elf arched upwards, begging for more, momentarily forgetting about their little challenge, until Hawke palmed his cock again, and breathed a warm stream of air over the sensitive head of his erection. He moaned as the rogue's tongue came out to lick the crown, and then narrowed his eyes at Hawke as he snickered. "See?" he teased. "I win. You moan so nicely for me. Do it some more."

In a flash, Hawke found himself on his back again, while Fenris leaned over him, scowling. " _You_ do it," he growled, and then run his hands over Hawke's bulging pectorals, down his stomach and over the slight dusting of dark hair that started at his bellybutton and came to frame that thick, virile cock of his, already standing at attention. He nipped a little kiss at his bellybutton, before running his tongue from the root to the tip of Hawke's shaft, making the man hiss and grip the sheets in his hands. "Moan for me, Hawke," Fenris commanded in a low, throaty baritone, that made the rogue groan and bite his lips not to comply. "Moan my name."

"Make me," Hawke repeated, his eyes twinkling playfully. A long-fingered hand snuck down to palm his own heavy erection. "Or aren't you up to the task?"

Fenris growled before slapping his hand away; his hot, moist mouth was on the other man's length the next instance, engulfing him almost straight down to the root. Hawke arched his back, his whole body bowing off the bed. He gripped the sheets even tighter and nearly bit his lip through to keep himself from crying out from the dagger of pleasure that slashed though his insides. Whimpering as the elf's velvety tongue bathed the twin globes underneath his straining staff, he allowed the barest of moans to escape him when that hot mouth returned to suckle his aching, raging hard-on once again.

"Louder," Fenris commanded in a rough, hoarse, velvety whisper. "Again." And he swiped his tongue over the silky soft skin of his cock's crown, caressing the little slit of the top. "My name, Hawke."

But the rogue kept his mouth stubbornly closed, refusing to let the needy, desperate sounds Fenris wanted to hear from him cross his lips. He brought one hand to his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to keep the moan rumbling in his chest from escaping, a fine sheet of sweat coating his whole body. Pleasure streamed through his body as Fenris' mouth tormented him, alternating deep, furious suckling with languid strokes of his tongue and small nipping kisses, letting him have just the smallest edge of teeth. He writhed on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust upwards and bury himself in that sinfully warm mouth that was pleasuring him nearly to the edge of pain- pleasure so acute was torture, bordering on agony.

But when Fenris upped the game, and slid even lower to caress his opening with the tip of a saliva-slicked finger, Hawke lost- he moaned; a low, long, needy moan, rumbling in his chest. A strangled "Fenris..." followed, breathless, dreamy and desperate at the same time, as that finger pushed inside, just a tiny bit, forcing the tight little hole to yield. Fenris chuckled, pleased at his victory, and raised his eyes to gloat, to tease the rogue.

The sight that greeted his eyes gave him pause, then made a moan of his own rumble out. Hawke was panting on the bed, his eyes- luminous like mercury- were languid and soft, but fired with desire. His long, silky dark hair was spread around him like a halo, pitch black against the white sheets; his mouth was partly open, his breath laboured. He was looking at Fenris with a dark, ravenous look on his handsome face. Flushed from head to toe with pleasure and looking both like a virgin offering and a predator ready to pounce, he once again sent a shockwave of surprise and want through Fenris' soul: so vulnerable, and so unconquerable at the same time.

Holding the rogue's gray eyes with his own moss green ones, he gave one last lingering lick to the twitching length that was weeping with excitement, and watched in secret excitement as those eyes narrowed, then glinted with a predatory light; Hawke's face hardened into the lines of a hunter, a sexy male animal set on its prey. Fenris mock-fought Hawke as he wrapped his arms around his torso and flipped him effortlessly on his stomach. He writhed and wiggled in his grip, but without putting any real force behind his protest; Maker knew, despite his slight built, Fenris could easily overpower the larger man. He just didn't want to- not yet. Right now, he felt the need to submit, to be taken. He would never allow it without some small token of resistance, though, and Hawke knew it, so he held him down- his torso pressing the elf down, his hands thrust above his head.

The way Fenris writhed and bucked to dislodge him from on top of him, anyway, was doing wonders to fan the fires of desires inside Hawke. He had to grind his teeth to hold on to his control when the elf's pert ass rubbed against his erection, as he tried to make him move. He gave a low growl, pushed down with all his weight, then rubbed himself against him. Fenris went still, absolutely still, then groaned and pushed back; Hawke's cock slid into the crease of Fenris' ass, cradled between the boyish globes of flesh.

Time seemed to slow; their bodies slowly stilled. The only sound in the room was that of their sawing breaths, and the furious pounding of their heartbeats. Hawke sighed when Fenris went lax underneath him, surrendering all control to him, then rocked against him once more, making moans rumble in both their chests. All Hawke wanted to do was angle his hips just so, and slide inside the smaller man, but some small sliver of sanity still remained in his brain, and he realised that might hurt Fenris; he wasn't sure if the warrior had taken any lovers in the past three years, but he was more inclined to believe that he hadn't. Three years meant that he would be as tight as a virgin, and the thought made Hawke tremble from head to toe with desire. Maker, his cock felt so hot and swollen he was afraid it was going to burst any minute now.

"Do you need me to prepare you?" he leaned his head to ask, whispering in his ear. Fenris shivered and then writhed underneath him.

"No. Take me," he breathed.

"I might hurt you," Hawke warned him, licking along the edge of that ultra sensitive ear.

"I don't care," Fenris arched upwards, trying to make the larger man move.

" _I_ do," the rogue answered, and turned Fenris' head with a hand fisted in his hair in order to kiss him. The kiss was in an awkward angle, Fenris' scalp stung from his hair being yanked, but the kiss...the kiss melted something hard in his chest, some unidentifiable little cold spot on his soul. It was tender, caring, soothing; cajoling and so, _so_ heartbreakingly loving that Fenris felt tears sting his eyes. It was the same mixture of dominance and adoration he had first experienced in Hawke's arms that night three years ago- what he had been longing to feel again ever since.

Hawke rose on his knees above him after breaking the kiss, and then stretched to fiddle in the bedside drawer for a few minutes. Fenris looked back over his shoulder, to see the rogue sitting low on his knees above him, his legs straddling his upper thighs, coating his fingers with a thick cream from a little jar. He fell back on the pillow with a growl of impatience; damn it, Hawke wanted to kill him with frustration, it seemed.

"I won't break Hawke," he protested. "There's no need for..." He interrupted his own protests to hiss as something cold was slathered over the furled opening of his ass, then moaned as a warm hand caressed the same spot, taking the cold away. Hawke used one hand to spread his ass open, then Fenris felt a finger slip inside him experimentally.

"Damn," Hawke groaned. "You're tight."

Fenris hid his head in the pillow and moaned. The sensation wasn't painful, not until a second finger was carefully added. Even then, it was more uncomfortable than painful; alien. It really had been a long time, and he realised with a jolt that if Hawke had listened to him, and not insisted on preparing him, he would probably be in serious pain right now.

That little unidentifiable something in his chest melted a little more at that thought.

Shivers of pleasure raced up and down his spine as those slim, elegant fingers found a rhythm inside him, carefully thrusting, loosening him up. The tips of Hawke's finger brushed once- then twice- against that special spot inside him, and pleasure exploded from the tips of his ears to his toes. Hawke stopped for a moment, his fingers still buried deep inside Fenris, to grab a pillow and make Fenris rise a bit to stuff it under his hips, elevating his ass so he could work on him better; the new sensation of his aching erection rubbing against the soft, downy pillow, combined with those talented fingers caressing him so intimately made Fenris want to howl with desire and pleasure. He grunted into the pillow, then shot the tall human a look that was both pleading and demanding over his shoulder.

"Hawke..." he couldn't help the feeble, imploring note from thinning his voice into a keen. "Now, Hawke. Stop playing."

"One more," Hawke's voice was strained, guttural with lust. "One more before you're ready for me."

Another finger joined the other two, and Fenris' whole body lit up, his markings alighting with a silvery blue glow. His hands fisted on the sheets, his hips undulated along with those oh so talented fingers that were thrusting slowly, destructively slowly, inside him. His erection was a red hot rod of steel, leaking liberally, as he rutted against the pillow.

It was too much for Hawke, watching him like this, his lithe body tensed with both pleasure and pain. The tenuous hold on his control snapped, the determination to torture the elf with pleasure, to prologue his enjoyment for as long as he could before taking him, fizzled and died like a flame in the wind. His eyes fogged over, and his whole body tensed- he had to have him, Maker, he looked so damned sexy, so hot, his body begging for him.

With a moan that rumbled in his chest, he positioned himself, after coating his aching shaft with the cream, and slipped the first inches inside the amazing tightness of Fenris' ass. He had to stop there, to take deep calming breaths. At the first sensation of being inside the hot, snug channel he nearly came, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve ending along his body. Fenris pushed back, taking him deeper, and Hawke had to groan and push down on the elf with a hand against the hollow of his spine. Maker, he wasn't going to last long. He was going to embarrass himself, but he couldn't help it- he had longed to be connected to the man he loved for three long years, and the reality of it was even better than all his erotic dreams put together, even hotter than he remembered.

One more inch sipped inside, and Hawke made the mistake of looking down to where his cock was disappearing inside Fenris' body. At the sight of the elf's flesh stretching around his shaft he lost what little sanity he had left; he hilted himself with a brutal thrust, sinking inside Fenris to the root. The moan that escaped him nearly rattled the windows- long, low, agonised. It was too much, the pleasure was too much, it made stars explode behind his eyes. Fenris grunted underneath him, then arched back, taking him in more completely- it made Hawke grunt his name, along with a plea to the Maker.

One long moment, time for both of them to get used to the tight, snug fit, to the incredible feeling of being connected, to the waves of pleasure that were whipping their bodies; one moment to catch their breaths, to gather whatever self-control was left, and then Hawke started moving.

Nothing compared to this, nothing- it was bliss, a piece of heaven. For Hawke, the belonging, the feeling of being encompassed, the acceptance- it was beyond his wildest dreams, a psychological punch to the gut that only heightened his pleasure. For Fenris, the feeling of surrender, of being claimed, of belonging to someone that didn't own him was the same, adding to the bliss, to the agonising mixture of pleasure and pain.

Hawke's knees failed to support him as he felt Fenris clench around him, and he collapsed on the elf, only his corded forearms holding him up; muted curses in Tevene along with breathless grunts and moans were escaping the man underneath him and Hawke arched his spine upwards, rocking inside Fenris with punishing force.

"You're so good," he praised. "So tight. Hot. Snug. Perfect, Maker's breath, you're so perfect!"

One of the elf's hands reached out to his, and Hawke entwined his fingers with Fenris' then rose on his knees again, dragging the elf up with him so that he was on his knees in front of him; the new position allowed for brutal, punishing thrusts, that made the headboard bang against the wall, and Fenris slide on the bed; he put out one hand to support himself against the headboard, but his other hand remained linked with Hawke's, their fingers clasping together strongly enough to make knuckles turn white.

Fire streaked down Hawke's spine as the elf underneath him came with a deep, rumbling groan, then everything went black as his orgasm slammed into his gut, unexpectedly, out of the blue. He held himself still as his seed shot out of him in white-hot spurts, then he collapsed on the heaving body of his lover, trying to catch his breath again, worrying for one brief moment that he had permanently gone blind from the hot rush of pleasure that had incinerated his brain.

They stayed like this, still not sated, panting, shudders of unbelievable ecstasy making their bodies twitch. Fenris mustered enough strength to whisper the rogue's name, and Hawke managed to lay one tender kiss between Fenris' shoulder blades. They blacked out after that, utterly exhausted, rocked to their toes by the strength of what had just happened between them, not even bothering to move in order to make themselves more comfortable.

And still, their hands remained united, their fingers intertwined.

* * *

Hawke woke with a jolt, realising his bed was empty. He blinked to clear his eyes then looked around him, with panic making his heart race in his chest.

_Maker, not again. Not again. Don't do this to me._

Fenris was standing by the fireplace, wrapped in a sheet, and although Hawke tried to convince himself that if he was planning to walk out again, the elf would have taken time to dress, the fear that chilled his heart didn't want to listen to reason.

"If you're planning to leave again," he said, his voice still gravely from sleep, "could you at least wait till morning?". He shook his head, a small, bitter chuckle escaping him. "I don't want to be that kind of guy, that got dumped in the middle of the night twice."

Fenris was surprised when he first heard Hawke speak, then his words registered and a twinge of anger rose up to make him scowl. Did Hawke think he was a liar? He had promised to stay, and stay he would. He turned towards Hawke with a biting, scathing remark, but then noticed how wide and vulnerable the rogue's eyes were, and a corner of his mouth rose in tender smile.

"And what is the difference should I leave in the morning?"

Hawke drew a deep breath, then looked away, desperately trying for the composure to joke, to appear nonchalant. "None. There'd be more light for you to see your way out, that's all. You know... less danger of you stepping into puddles and all."

Fenris rolled his eyes, then returned to the bed. "I won't be fooled by cheep attempts at humour again, Hawke."

"Good, because mine are expensive." Hawke answered, still eyeing him wearily.

Fenris dropped the sheet, and climbed up to join Hawke again, noting with amusement how the fear and anxiety in the rogue's eyes faded to be replaced with a hungry look as soon as the sheet had pooled to the floor. He couldn't resist leaning in for a kiss, and the rogue's brawny arms wrapped tightly around him, almost desperately. Hawke moaned into the kiss, then rested his head on Fenris' shoulder, sighing contentedly.

"I thought you were going to leave again," he said, his voice relieved, and Fenris smiled before running his fingertips all over the tall human's toned back.

"For such a bright man, you are exceedingly obtuse, on occasion."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "Enough with the verbose vocabulary, my loquacious elf," he made a disgusted face. " It's too early for such big words."

Fenris resisted the urge to tease him further, too contented to do anything than lay on the bed, there in the dark, only the light from the fire crackling in the fireplace casting an orange-coloured glow around the room. He leisurely ran his fingers up and down Hawke's back, luxuriating in the easy feeling of familiarity- a sensation completely out of his experience, but something that he could find himself getting used to very easily. A little gold chain around Hawke's neck caught his attention and he pulled it up, to see a beautiful heart-shaped amulet that he hadn't even noticed in the heat of the moment.

"What's this?" he asked absentmindedly, savouring the heat the jewel seemed to have absorbed from Hawke's skin. "It's new. I haven't seen it before."

Hawke looked down to the amulet between Fenris' fingers and smiled. "You could say it's my lucky charm. Varric found it the other day, and he gave it to me."

Fenris pulled the amulet closer to his eyes, to examine it better, and suddenly, Hawke was seized by a feeling of unease. It didn't feel right- for some reason- for anyone else to be touching it and he rationalised the feeling saying to himself that the amulet was indeed his lucky charm, and he was afraid that having it handled by someone would jinx him, somehow. He pulled the amulet out of Fenris' fingers, and let it drop against his chest again, scowling at the elf.

"Do you mind?" he asked, mild annoyance in his voice. "It looks fragile," he excused himself at the surprised look the elf shot him. "And it's brought me good luck, I'd hate to see it ruined."

"Good luck?" the elf raised one dark eyebrow.

Hawke leaned in to kiss him again, his lips lingering on the soft, pliable mouth of the warrior, then trailing down his neck. "Yes," he murmured. "Namely, it's brought a handsome elf to my bed."

It was dialogue that would come back to haunt him later; he couldn't have known but at that moment, he was casting himself in the most incriminating light. Fenris remembered those words later- right then, in the haze of pleasure the rogue's talented mouth and fingers caused him, he didn't pay much attention. But later, he remembered this dialogue, that unfortunate choice of words that Hawke uttered- and convinced himself that Hawke meant something completely different than what he really did.

The demon chuckled again, sending unseen waves of magic through them both, magic whose sole purpose was to increase the desire already burning as hot as a furnace between them. She laughed; they were so good, so obedient. They wanted each other so much already that she didn't really need to expend much energy. She sucked in their pleasure, their need, their primal want- and still they gave her more, all on their own.

Such good pets, the both of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris opened his eyes to brilliant sunshine, jerking awake with a jolt as he always did; no matter how much he tried, he always got that old feeling of dread, heavy in the pit of his belly whenever he woke after sunrise. It was the old terror of a slave that had overslept, and was now dreading the consequences. He blinked, then looked around, taking in his surroundings, his mind momentarily puzzled as to why he was lying in a soft, downy mattress, with a rich canopy above him, and heavy, embroidered curtains- but then the memory of last night slammed into his head, making his breath hitch.

Hawke. Hawke's bed. Hawke's room. His arms, around him, all night. His lovemaking, his warm, hard body, teaching him unimaginable pleasure all through the night. He stretched, testing out his body for soreness, and realised there was none. He felt energised, relaxed, contented.

He slowly got out of bed, and approached the washing stand on the corner, looking around for Hawke. His robe was tossed over a chair, and his armour, as well as Fenris', was hanging on an armour stand; obviously, Hawke had woken before him, and had taken the time to tidy up the mess they had made of the room during the night.

Fenris realised he had never slept so soundly before, always on the ready, always alert, always expecting some attack. He hadn't even heard Hawke move around and tidy up, although, truth be told, Hawke could be silent on his feet like a big cat when he wanted to. The elf looked at the door, then glanced out the window- it was high enough so that no enemies could get in...he was being paranoid. He was safe here, in Hawke's house, in his room. He made himself relax, taking deep breaths. He hadn't really intended to stay _all_ night. It was going to be awkward this morning.

He blushed a little, embarrassed, as he washed the evidence of the night's activities from his skin. Hawke had left him a pair of supple tan leather breeches to wear, as well as a sinfully soft cotton tunic, in light blue. Fenris looked from the clothes to his spirit hide armour, then donned his own clothes. The weight of the leather on his body reassured some anxiety he hadn't even realised he was feeling, providing him with a sense of security and familiarity.

He made his way down the stairs, clenching his teeth to deal with the curious, speculative looks Hawke's household staff would give him, especially that elven girl; for a moment he was sure he would see the same knowing, pitying look that slaves in his old Master's home gave to slaves that were seen slinking out of Danarius' bedroom in the morning. He shook the notion from his head; it was not the same thing- _it was not_. He was here by his own free will, by his own choosing. Whatever this thing between Hawke and him was, he had chosen to explore it, no one had forced it upon him.

The house, however, was totally empty. Not even Hawke's dwarven manservant or his simpleton son could be seen anywhere. Hawke's mabari was snoozing next to the fireplace and the only other sound was the faint sound of a voice humming in the kitchen. A tantalising scent of fried bacon reached his nose, and his stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunch time the previous day.

He made his way to the kitchen, walking silently on his bare feet. When he opened the door, the heavenly aroma of cooked eggs and fried bacon assaulted his senses even more strongly, and the sight made him break into a small smile. Hawke was standing in front of the stove, his hair caught in a sloppy ponytail low on his neck, naked from the waist up, but wearing a ridiculous looking apron; it was too small for his tall, muscled frame, and bright green with small yellow flowers- Fenris' guess was that it belonged to Orana.

He watched the deadliest rogue in all the Free Marches, the Champion of Kirkwall, hum a merry tune as he cooked his lover eggs and bacon, his lithe body moving with that innate grace of his, with an economy of movement and an almost absurd concentration on his task, and felt the stirrings of a different kind of hunger in the pit of his belly.

Unfortunately, his stomach had other ideas, and growled loudly, _too_ _loudly_ , and Fenris brought a hand to his belly, embarrassed at the sound.

Hawke raised his hands in the air. "I surrender Ser Dragon. Please don't eat me, I taste like crap," he said then turned his head over his shoulder to look at him.

Fenris would never forget the way his eyes were shining like silver, the happy, brilliant smile that dimpled his cheeks, the love and happiness in his gaze; framed as he was by the dazzling sunshine coming though the window, with that ridiculous looking apron coming in sharp contrast with the masculinity of his naked torso, Hawke was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

If there had even been a moment more suitable for saying "I love you" to someone, that was it. Another man would have done it- but Fenris was not a man of tender words and loving assurances; he let the moment pass. He knew there was something he wanted to tell the rogue, it was right there at the tip of his tongue, but he didn't know what it was and that made him nervous. He _was_ happy, he knew that, contended for the first time in memory and he showed his emotions through a small smile, and the uncustomary expression on his face: open, not scowling, his green eyes for once not guarded. To ruin the moment even further, Fenris' stomach found the exact moment to emit a loud rumbling noise again, and Hawke's smile widened. "Oh, it's you," he chuckled. "I thought it was a dragon that growled."

"Please forgive my stomach for its deplorable manners," the elf murmured wryly. He tried to swipe a piece of bacon from the platter in front of Hawke, his mouth salivating, but his hand was rebuked with a paddle of a wooden spoon. A small swell of anger rose inside him, because he had many times in the past been denied his food just like that, but he shook his head to clear it; it was _not_ the same. Hawke had come down here to cook for him, he wasn't a power hungry magister that was planning to starve him.

"Come," Hawke didn't even seem to notice the way the elf had tensed for a moment, removing the eggs from the hot skillet to add them to the platter. "Let's feed that growling dragon in your belly. I'm famished, and if those enteric concerts your belly is playing are any indication, you must be too."

Fenris took a seat, then watched in shock as the human piled most of the food on the platter on his plate –only serving himself a few strips of bacon and a small amount of eggs-, and poured him some freshly made tea. "Is that all you're eating?" he eyed his own plate, then Hawke's.

"Don't worry about me," Hawke smiled, "I ate nearly half of it off the skillet. "The cook gets the first helping, after all, and besides, now that I think of it, I'm not really hungry."

Fenris was not convinced, and felt strangely awkward, being fed the lion's share of the meal. "Where is your servant, the elf girl?" the apron Hawke was wearing caught his eyes again. "I dare say her apron suits you."

Hawke's lips curled into a smile. "You think?" he asked, running a hand down his torso, barely covered by the flower-patterned fabric. "I was planning on cooking in the nude for you, but after the third time I got spattered by grease, I gave up."

"A wise choice."

"Tell me about it."

Hawke smiled brightly before spearing a piece of bacon with his fork. "To answer your previous question," he mumbled, his mouth full, "Orana has caught the fancy of some elf boy down at the Alienage. He asked for her hand in marriage, and I wholeheartedly gave my blessing, after telling the little fool that Orana was her own person and my blessing was not needed. She's spending a few days with his family, arranging the wedding."

Fenris paused with his fork midway to his mouth. "Marriages between elves are usually arranged by their parents, and a dowry is required."

"Well," Hawke shrugged, "he fell in love with her, and trust me, the dowry I gave her was more than enough to silence his family if they had any objections."

Fenris put his fork down, genuinely perplexed. "You gave your servant a dowry?"

"Fit for a princess, trust me. The girl deserves it. She darns my socks...have you seen my socks?" at Fenris' wide eyed negative nod, he smiled and went on. "They have more holes than sock. How she does it, I haven't the foggiest." He swallowed down his bite and then eyed his next forkful thoughtfully. "Now, if she could help locate the pairs, as well, I'd be willing to pay her weight in gold."

"You speak of it so lightly, but..."

Hawke's cheeks blushed a bit. "It's nothing, Fenris. I have the money, and she's like family...who else do I have to spend it on?"

Fenris wanted to kick himself for bringing that sad smile on Hawke's face. "Your family would be very proud of you." He then coughed into his hand and tried to change the subject. "You seem to have misplaced your dwarves, as well."

"I gave Bodahn the week off. He's up in the mountains somewhere, camping or fishing or whatever with his son." Hawke said, shrugging casually, then pushed his nearly still full plate away. "They'll be back in two days."

Fenris felt the stirrings of desire that had gripped him before grow a bit stronger. "Then we are all alone?"

Hawke waved his fork around. "Yep, totally alone. Why, are you thinking of ravishing me on my kitchen table? I know I look good in this- you just can't resist me, can you?" He froze with his mug of tea halfway to his mouth as he caught the predatory, half-lidded look the elf sent him, then gulped. "Damn..." he muttered, his voice suddenly husky. "And up went little Hawke."

Fenris' eyes trailed even lower, to the bulge in Hawke's linen drawstring trousers, then he growled, low, deep in his throat. Hawke's smile faded from his face, to be replaced with a wide-eyed look, like a deer caught in the predatory gaze of a big, hungry cat, that was ready to pounce and devour it.

"What?" he croaked. "Here? Now?"

Fenris pushed his plate aside, then his eyes –hooded with desire, dark and liquid with need- made contact with his again. "Here," he said, his fingers flying to the clasps of his leather cuirass. "Now."

Hawke licked suddenly dry lips, feeling unusually vulnerable under that ravenous, hot look, fidgeting in place. His blood streamed south to harden him so fast, so urgently, that he felt light-headed for an instance. Fenris' eyes roamed over his half naked torso, then an eyebrow rose up.

"Remove that apron," he ordered, his voice darkly erotic. "I refuse to take you in it."

The young rogue scrambled to comply, his trembling fingers clumsy on the knot behind his back, then looked at Fenris again with wide, awed eyes, a faint pink tinting his cheeks and spreading down his neck and torso. He felt his cock twitch in the confines of his clothes, and closed his eyes on a small frustrated sigh.

Gone was the confident, dominant man of the previous night; in the bright sunshine, totally captivated by the predatory look of possession on the elf's face, he was reduced to nothing more than what he really was: a young man, a Fereldan boy fresh out of the farm, trembling with lust –and a small amount of apprehension- under the primal gaze of a man that wanted to own him in the most basic way.

Just like Fenris, Hawke had a submissive streak too, one that revelled in being subdued, that longed to have all control stripped off him. It didn't appear easily, Hawke never let it emerge, unless it was in the middle of the night, in wet, erotic dreams, because just like Fenris, he needed to trust in a level too deep, too instinctive to allow it free reign. None of the partners Hawke had ever been with had managed to earn it, but Fenris had, somehow, even though he had hurt the young man three years ago. Maybe it was the way the stoic elven warrior had been fighting at Hawke's side all these years, maybe it was the fact that Hawke had had to fight tooth and nail to earn Fenris' trust as well, but there had never been anyone Hawke had ever trusted enough to submit to, to give himself to this way.

Cheeks blushing furiously, Hawke bit his lip again, a small amount of nervousness in his eyes. "I have never..." he said, letting his words trail off. His breath was already coming in small, excited pants, and his pupils had blown to nearly all black, only a pale rim of gray remaining. "I've only...the other way around. I have never actually...you know. Taken one."

Fenris felt his cock leap at those words, his blood catch on fire. His markings flared briefly and he snuck his own hand down his naked torso, the silvery lyrium lines following its progress down to where he palmed his own length through the leather britches. "You will now," he promised, then slipped his other hand into Hawke's hair, drawing him in for a sizzling, ravenous kiss.

Hawke could do nothing but give in, allowing the smaller man's mouth to ravage his, a little moan escaping him at the taste, at the silky feel of that hot, wet tongue sliding along his to explore every inch of his mouth. Fenris' kiss was just like him: dangerous, exotic, violent. Intoxicating. Just like the man himself, it attacked with single-minded ferocity, with no regard for niceties, without mercy. In his everyday life, his everyday interactions, he appeared hesitant, stoic, even reserved. But once his passion had been unleashed, once his reservation had been overcome, Fenris was a passionate man, Hawke realised, a man who didn't give his desires free reign easily-not because he didn't have any, but because they were too intense, too powerful, and only an equally strong partner could handle them.

As that hungry mouth stole the very breath from his lungs, Hawke sent a fervent prayer to the Maker that he was that man, that he would be able to withstand the onslaught that was Fenris.

The elf suddenly rose to his feet, pulling Hawke out of his chair as well, still kissing him like his life depended on it. Those perfect, luscious lips trailed down Hawke's neck, suckling and nibbling, biting down on the corded tendon of Hawke's neck while at the same time using the fist tangled in his hair to yank his head back to give himself better access. Hawke moaned at the pleasure, hissed at the pain, but embraced both, eager for what else the elf could teach him, rejoicing in having all control stripped off him for once.

His hands rose on their own to rest on the elf's shoulders, trying to push him down further, but with a growl, Fenris let him know he wasn't eager to accept directions; it was his game, his rhythm, his playtime. He licked under Hawke's chin, entranced with the difference in skin texture and the heady, musky scent of Hawke's flesh. He trailed lower, suckling hard at the base of Hawke's neck, bruising the skin, then lavishing it with kisses and licks to take the sting away.

Hawke moaned his name. "Oh, Maker," he sighed. "Please. _Please_."

A smug smile curled Fenris' mouth before he trailed lower, sliding his mouth over Hawke's clavicle, over his bulging pectoral. He rubbed his cheek on the man's skin, hot as a furnace, listening to the frantic beating of his heartbeat for a moment before he caught his nipple between his teeth and rubbed the tip of his tongue back and forth against it. Hawke's spine arched backwards, a curse escaping him. And still that mouth trailed lower, after giving the other nipple the same treatment and making Hawke whimper. It went over the rippling muscles of his abdomen, where a soft dusting of dark curls peaked over Hawke's low-riding britches, then pulled the drawstring loose, and dipped lower still. An impressive tenting in Hawke's smallclothes indicating how aroused he was, and Fenris kissed the other man's length through the fabric, which was already dampened with the drops that Hawke's cock had been leaking.

He rose up again to claim Hawke's mouth as his hand dove into the rogue's smallclothes and circled his erection. Hawke moaned into his mouth, then pulled away to hide his face in the crook of Fenris' shoulder as that hand started pumping his aching shaft- slow, forceful movements, just the right amount of pressure applied, one thumb circling over the top and the sensitive opening. He panted into Fenris' skin, moaning breathlessly, his whole body trembling, as that hand expertly pushed him to further and further up the point of no return.

"Do you know how entrancing you are?" Fenris murmured darkly in his ear, his voice low and gravely with want. "How I have longed to have you like this, at my mercy?"

"Oh, sweet Andraste!" Hawke moaned. "Your voice. Maker. Harder. Faster."

Fenris chuckled darkly in the rogue's ear, as his fist squeezed around the engorged length of Hawke's shaft, then increased the tempo, making the other man moan brokenly. Hawke was now all but leaning on Fenris, his weight supported by him, while his hands clutched desperately on the elf's forearms.

The tall, well built human was trembling like a stallion, his whole body racked by shudders, making those adorably weak mewling and moaning sounds into Fenris' flesh. The elf ignored his own painful arousal, and soaked in the sensations greedily; Hawke's pale skin, glinting in the bright, sunlit kitchen as sweat coated his body, the heady smell of his arousal, the sounds- Maker, the sounds!- that were escaping him. His whole body flushed, his muscles tensed, he had surrendered himself in Fenris' arms so totally, that it made the elf's blood roar in his veins. He felt his own arousal pressing against his leather breeches, insistent, demanding, throbbing with his furious heartbeat.

Just when he thought he could not take this anymore, the urge to have the exquisitely sexy man in his arms almost too much to deny anymore, Hawke's body tended some more, then he jerked desperately, emptying himself in Fenris' hand. The rogue clenched his teeth on Fenris shoulder, trying in vain to keep in the wrenching moans that tumbled from deep inside his chest as his body shuddered in a destructive orgasm, that went on for minutes, soft pulses of white-hot seed coating the elf's fingers. The tiny sting of pain as he felt Hawke's teeth pierce his skin only added to Fenris' excitement, and he moaned in that rich gravelly voice of his, signalling to Hawke that he was near the end of his patience. The young rogue raised his head to offer him an adorably confused, pleasure-fogged look, his eyes shattered by the force of what he had experienced, and Fenris had had enough.

Roughly, with wildly trembling hands, he turned Hawke around, a little yelp escaping the larger man at the urgency and suddenness of the movement, then bent him over the table. Hawke tensed for a minute, as Fenris' hands jerked his breeches and smallclothes down his thighs, then surrendered once more, still shuddering in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Fenris' mouth went dry at the sight of that pert, boyish ass bared for him, at the soft, baby-smooth skin. His cock wept in his tight leather breaches, then –incredulously- it hardened even more, to the point that Fenris thought it would explode. He scanned the room desperately for something to use, then his eyes fell on the thick slab of butter on the table. He dipped his fingers in the softened butter, in front of Hawke's face, and prepared to coat the tight opening that was so tempting between those boyish globes of flesh.

Hawke's chuckle surprised him, and abated the lust fogging his brain just enough for him to remember that Hawke had admitted to never having done this before.

"You're buttering me up?" Hawke laughed, giggles that were tinged with a little fear at the edge of them escaping him in rush. "I'll tease you for this forever, that you battered my buttered butt."

An irrational urge to laugh climbed up Fenris throat, softening the urgency of his lust, bringing forth tenderness from some unknown corner in his soul. "Hawke," he chastened the other man, his lips quirking in a teasing smile, "behave. I realise lame humour is your bread and butter, but..."

Hawke roared with laughter, jerking with the force of it on the table. When his laughter subsided, he turned a brilliantly smiling face to Fenris over his shoulder, all traces of fear gone. "Maker, I love you," he said softly, his eyes luminous, his cheeks dimpled- then he dropped his head forward again and widened his stance. "Just be careful. That's totally virgin territory back there. I've taken a finger, or maybe two. That's all."

That one comment was all it took for Fenris to forget about the playful comments and focus again on the lust that was making his legs tremble. He let out a small, needy groan and then petted the firm, round ass in front of him, before pulling the cheeks apart to reveal that small puckered hole that promised him untold pleasure. None too gently he pushed past the clenched muscle, embedding his finger in to the second knuckle, liberally coated in butter. Hawke grunted, then tensed, and Fenris marshalled up enough control to try and soothe him, petting him, running his other hand over his lower back, murmuring darkly erotic praise to him.

Another finger soon followed, once the desperate tightness had eased a little. Hawke let out a little surprised yelp, as Fenris pushed in far enough to brush against his prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through the inexperienced young man; pleasure that battled the pain and painful, uncomfortable feeling of being stretched for the first time.

Fenris repeated the caress, until Hawke was pushing back on his thrusting fingers, begging for the pressure to increase, totally ignoring the twinge of pain another added finger caused him; if Fenris was any judge, the added pressure and the sting of pain even increased the rogue's satisfaction further. With a groan, he jerked his own leather breeches down, taking his cock –engorged, shining darkly red with arousal, leaking with impatience- in his hand and after coating it in the now melted butter, he aimed for the slightly stretched hole.

Hawke was by far not ready enough, not stretched enough, but Fenris had reached the point where he couldn't wait anymore; he pushed in, sinking the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscles. Hawke keened in distress, stretching his arms to the side to grip the table's edge, then groaned as the elf's thick cock sank inside him to the root, relentlessly, filling his ass with fiery pain. He panted, trying in vain to relax, and suddenly Fenris' hand was in his hair, his mouth was by his ear, his torso covering him.

"Relax, Hawke," Fenris crooned to him, holding his body still, while grinding his teeth against the overwhelming pleasure of Hawke's hot, snug passage. "Shhhh. Don't fight it."

"Easy for you to say!" Hawke grunted, hissing through tightly clenched teeth. "Oh, Maker! Shit, it hurts!" he writhed underneath Fenris, his tight hole clenching rhythmically against the rough, forceful invasion. "Where the fuck's that butter?"

Fenris pulled back by a few scant fractions of an inch, then slammed back in, making the rogue grunt. "Perfect," he whispered, his phrases disjointed. "So tight. So hot. Relax for me, Hawke. Let me in."

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," Hawke groaned, racked by pain. His ass felt like it had been set on fire. "Oh, Maker. Get it over with, already!"

But Fenris had no such intention; he didn't want it to be something that Hawke just got it over with, he didn't want it to be something that Hawke just endured. He wanted the rogue hungry for him the next time, he wanted them both fighting and roughing it up to make each other submit. He wanted Hawke to love both the sensation of being taken and taking, just like he did; so he took deep breaths, trying to calm down the inferno of lust that was burning through his body and demanded he take the younger man without mercy, pounding inside him.

Instead, he angled his hips just so, making sure every thrust would rub against Hawke's prostate and rocked against him, giving him shallow, soft thrusts, that had the rogue moaning in pleasure instead of pain in mere minutes. Soon, Hawke was pushing back at him, moaning his name, and pleading for more. Fenris complied with a smug smirk on his lips, and pulled back almost to the crest before he surged back inside him.

"Oh, damn," Hawke moaned, surprise in his voice. "That's...Oh, shit. Do that again."

Fenris muttered a curse in Tevene and then complied, a little more forcefully, sinking even deeper. Hawke arched off the table, his hands gripping the edge with white-knuckled force, his mind fogged by a heady mixture of pain and pleasure that fought and fed each other at the same time. The sheer dominance of the act was overwhelming him like nothing else had done before; he felt taken, owned, in ways he could never have imagined.

"Harder," Hawke's breath whooshed out of him with another balls deep thrust. "Oh, Maker's balls. Again. I love you. I love this. Give me more."

Fenris paused to grit his teeth, to try to marshal his stamina in order to make the hot, sizzling pleasure last, to give Hawke more time to overcome the pain he was sure to still be feeling. At that exact moment Hawke mastered the trick of clenching and unclenching around the thick intruder that was impaling him, and Fenris went wild. He was snarling as he began to move inside him, a deep, growling sound of carnal greed that sent shivers racing over Hawke's flesh.

Then he knew nothing but the elf's cock driving up his ass. Fenris pulled back until only the head remained before surging forward again, stretching the rogue, burning him alive with want and primal, blinding need, as he bucked beneath him; the table's edge was cutting into the soft flesh of his upper thighs, his cock was trapped between his body and the hard wooden surface, but Hawke didn't care about any of it. All his being was focused on that thick shaft that was thrusting inside him, pummelling him. All he could hear was the groans that were escaping Fenris, the hard slap of flesh on flesh, his own needy moans. All he could feel was that tight spiral of want, need and pleasure tightening in the pit of his belly, streaking waves of sensation streaming down his spine.

He came with a primal scream when the twin arcs of pain and pleasure reached their zenith, spraying the table underneath him with his seed. He felt Fenris tense behind him, felt him deliver one last, punishing, brutal thrust, then heat flooded him as his lover filled him- and then he felt no more, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer destructive power of his orgasm. His vision turned black and for a few blessed seconds his consciousness disconnected, floating away from him on a wave of intense pleasure, of almost unbearable bliss.

He came back to himself, little by little, his whole frame still trembling wildly, his heart still galloping, and drew in a deep breath that restarted his heart that had paused in awe and shocked completion. His senses returned, first his hearing, then his sight, followed by the sense of smell; the room smelt like warm sunlit wood, sex and musky male arousal.

Fenris groaned above him, pulling away to slump back on the chair, his breath sawing. Hawke winced at the soreness that mingled with his residual pleasure, and at the sudden forlorn feeling of being empty after being so full, so complete. He felt the urge to say something, to joke somehow, so he could hide how shuttered by pleasure he felt, how much the fact that Fenris had been his first meant to him.

"Do you think..." Hawke had to swallow twice to make his voice work again, "...If I fall to the ground, I will drop butter side down?" His body still shuddering, he opened one eye to look at Fenris. The elf smiled, a wide, unreserved grin, and then started laughing, a beautiful, rich laugh, rusty from unuse.

Hawke's smile was more brilliant than the sunshine, the happiness in his heart almost painful in its intensity. He stretched on the table, indolently, feeling -with a blush spreading- a thick liquid escape his stretched, sore ass. He never wanted to move from that table, but Fenris wrapped his arms around his waist, gently pulling him up, then hugging him from behind. He relaxed in the embrace, his hands coming up to cup the elf's over his stomach; a shiver run down his spine as the elven warrior kissed his back, then laid his cheek on his sweat-slicked skin.

It was the closest Fenris would ever come to saying he loved him, but Hawke didn't mind- instead he felt his heart swell in his chest, and turned over his shoulder to look at the elf, then exchange a sweet, awkwardly slanted kiss.

Inside the amulet around his neck, however, Lust frowned. Damn them. The love was getting too much for her, all this lovey dovey fluffiness, it was making her sick. She growled impatiently; this nauseating love for each other was making it hard for her to draw on their lust and desire. It was like an invisible shield of protection around their hearts, the human's especially. The elf she could manipulate better, he was too closed off to notions like love, not even starting to admit to his own self that the feeling even existed inside him. She focused on him, scowling; one of her pets was causing her problems, but she would use the other one, the one with the dark, twisted maze of emotions in his heart.

She sent another jolt of magic through their connection as they were going up the stairs, renewing their stamina. She purred contentedly as it ended up with them rutting again against the stairs, the elf taking the human deep down his throat, then climbing on top of him to ride him. She watched from her prison in the amulet as the young rogue slammed his hips upwards to thrust into the elf with groaned, heated curse words mingling with prayers. She licked her lips when the elf shuddered wildly, then came with an animalistic roar, drenching his partner's chest with his seed. They were delicious, she purred, as she watched the tall human spread the elf's thick cream on his skin, then lick his fingers, his lover watching him like a hungry wolf.

The elf leaned in to kiss the rogue- a ravenous kiss, the bitter and salty taste of his seed mixing with the sweetness of their desire. She chuckled darkly; little did Fenris know, every time he gave into his desire for the human he brought Hawke one step closer to his end. She would grow strong enough soon, strong enough to devour the rogue's soul, to use his body like an empty husk.

But she had to be careful. The rogue had friends that were dangerous. A blood mage, who was luckily too ditzy to pay her attention, and a man who seemed to glow from the inside, where some goody-two-shoes Fade dweller had nested. She growled in frustration; she didn't have too much time. Soon she would be discovered, soon one of them would start wondering how come they felt no soreness, no tiredness. Soon someone would notice that Hawke was hallowing out from the inside; already, the rogue was a few pounds lighter, and his appetite was gone. The feeding she was doing off his soul had an effect on his body too, she couldn't help it; soon the elf might notice.

She closed her eyes, and let them rest a while. Soon. Soon. The world and all its delights would be hers, hers for the taking. Maybe, if she was subtle enough, that elf wouldn't even notice, and he would stick around after Hawke was hers, his body hers to command; he certainly seemed to know how to show a lover a good time.

Soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris watched Hawke get dressed with a small indulgent smile curling one corner of his mouth. He buckled his belt then sat down on the bed, watching Hawke putter around the room, looking critically at his suits of armour, then at his collection of undershirts and tunics, humming to himself. He wanted to show Fenris off, he had said, he wanted the whole world to see them together and know that the Champion of Kirkwall was officially off the market. The statement had been enough to make Fenris balk and refuse to leave the house, but Hawke had insisted, then –when everything else had failed- given him wide, sad puppy eyes which had made Fenris' resolve crumble.

He was still feeling apprehensive, though, it was the honest truth. He was worried, not only about the comments that strangers in the streets would make –no doubt gossiping about the Champion's choice of partner, both in sex and in race- but also of the teasing and riling their companions would give them. He gritted his teeth against the thought; the last time, Varric had asked that absurd question about who had swept whom off their feet, and Isabela's lewd comments had made his ears blush. They had stopped once they'd realised that references to their failed romance had caused Hawke's mood to dampen, but there would be no stopping them this time, Fenris knew that.

Hawke turned to look at him, and his eyes saddened a little at the look of discomfort on Fenris' face. "Fenris," he said softly. "I'm not ashamed of us. I wish you weren't either."

Fenris sighed. " _Vasta vaa_ s. A male elf, and an ex-slave. The gossips will have a field day. I...I do not wish to hear you being spoken of in derogatory terms, Hawke."

"Screw them," Hawke offered him a bright smile. "I don't care."

"I can already hear Varric in my head," Fenris continued. "Not to mention the pirate wench. And your friend Sebastian will probably lecture you on the sinfulness of our situation."

"Sebastian has been with men," Hawke offered, pulling a bright blue tunic over his head, and so missing Fenris' shocked look. "He's more understanding than you think."

"You jest, of course."

"No, not at all. Get him drunk one day, and he'll spin you some tales that will make your ears blush, believe me."

Fenris prowled towards him, his expression suddenly dark. "When have you gotten the Priest drunk? And for what purpose?"

Hawke looked at him with wide eyes for a few seconds before his face was split by a winsome smile, that dimpled his cheeks and made his eyes twinkle. "You're jealous," he said, then laughed happily. "Oh, Maker, you're jealous!" He brought a hand to his chest. "Be still my trembling heart! You're actually jealous... over me?"

Fenris blushed, then growled. "It is not in the least funny."

"Maker's breath! You _are_ jealous!" Hawke laughed again, almost doing a little dance. "I can't believe it!"

"I am nothing of the sort."

"Aww...admit it," Hawke pouted comically. "Just a little. Come on. Say it... 'yes, Hawke'," he imitated Fenris' rich baritone. " 'I am crazy in love with you and hate the idea of anyone else having you'."

"You must be demented," Fenris growled, but his blush could be clearly seen, as well as the way he fidgeted in awkwardness. "I simply do not care for the thought of you with the Priest..."

Hawke's eyes warmed, and he gave him a sweet, loving smile. "You, Serah," he said, "have absolutely nothing to worry about," Fenris was pulled into a fierce hug, and then a sizzling kiss. "Let's go," Hawke said, his voice hoarse when he finally broke the kiss, "before I decide to have another round of proving to you how utterly yours I am."

Fenris turned languid, contented eyes to him. "As I am yours, Hawke," he just said, before allowing his lover to drag him out of the house.

* * *

They were browsing the stalls of the Lowtown Market, slowly making their way to the Hanged Man when a familiar voice startled them and made them both raise their heads from the exquisite selection of rare Antivan wines Vinzenzo had just imported.

"Well, well, look at that," Varric drawled, "my two favourite people, shopping together. And for wine, no less. What's the occasion?"

Hawke just smiled, then his eyes roamed over Fenris' face in what could only be called a caress. Varric's eyes widened in realisation as the elf gave the rogue an equally heated look back, before his face tightened in a scowl again.

"Colour me astounded..." the dwarf whistled. "That does indeed call for some heavy drinking. So, any details this time? Was there sweeping involved? Bending over tables, perhaps?"

Fenris averted his eyes, blushing just a tiny bit, and Hawke's smile widened. "Perhaps," he cryptically said, his eyes hooding with the memories of that morning. "Don't try to butter me up, though, Varric, I'm not one to kiss and tell."

Fenris chortled a little at that, a bubble of laughter nearly escaping him, and Varric's eyes widened even more. "Broody is laughing? Alright Hawke, spill. What kind of demon did you make a deal with to make our broody elf turn into a giggling one?"

Hawke threw his head back and laughed, then thumped Varric's back. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased, totally oblivious to the fact that inside the amulet, Lust was snickering at the irony of the jest.

Her pets were so amusing!

* * *

Varric only stayed with them for a little while, then found some excuse to leave, telling them he was expecting them at the Hanged Man when they finished their shopping. Fenris watched him leave with a scowl on his face.

"I would be willing to bet he's on his way to tell Isabela," he tersely said.

Hawke just smiled, then thrust a bottle of wine in Fenris' arms. "And anyone else with a working set of ears, no doubt. Relax, Fenris...It's to be expected. That's just how Varric is. I'd worry if he _didn't_ rush off to tattle."

Fenris turned to scowl at him. "I hate being talked of like this." He returned the wine to the rack, then frowned like it had just offended him.

A hand caressed the tendrils of hair that had tumbled into Fenris' face, pushing them back and out of his eyes. Hawke smiled warmly. "I know, love," he said, his voice soothing. "I'm sorry. But I refuse to keep this a dirty little secret. I'm proud of the man I love, and I don't care what anyone else says."

A little jolt of something warm and tender spread inside Fenris at the words, warming him from the inside out, melting the ice around his heart a little more. His shoulders straightened from his customary slouching posture and he looked around him, standing tall, Hawke's words echoing in his ears. He didn't know what it was that he was more glad to hear: that Hawke loved him, or that he was proud of him.

There weren't a lot of things that Fenris was proud of- his skill with his blade, perhaps, his skill with languages, his doggedness and persistence, his unfailing will to survive which had served him so well during his years as a slave and later, when he had first found himself free. Hearing that Hawke was proud of him was another little boost to his self-confidence, to his sagging self-esteem, because there was no one he respected as much as Hawke. To know such a man –proud, capable, kind- loved him and respected him, was a like a balm to his sense of self-worth, which a lifetime of slavery had severely damaged.

He noticed that there were quite a few eyes openly and covertly following the exchange between Hawke and him, and blushing, he pulled a little away, then looked around for a more private spot. Maker, he wanted to kiss the rogue so much right now, but he couldn't, not here, not with half of Lowtown watching on. He turned around and started walking, surprising Hawke who trailed behind him, alarmed.

"Wait, Fenris!" Hawke hurried behind the elf, who was walking away from the busy marketplace with brisk, hasty footsteps. "Did I say something wrong? Fenris!"

The elf didn't even pause to answer him, need spiralling inside him. He couldn't deal with the confusing, tender emotions that Hawke evoked in his heart; he just couldn't. Not in any other way than drowning himself in the physical response that the rogue caused him, the lust and desire that was battling those affectionate, totally alien feelings. Looking frantically around him, he spotted a side alley, concealed behind some crates; he turned around, lightning-quick, and grabbing Hawke by his collar with both hands he pushed him backwards into the alley, making the man nearly stumble in surprise.

"Wh..?" Hawke's question was drowned in the kiss the elf gave him, hot, moist, ravenous. He sighed into Fenris mouth, then growled as his own desire caught like a match to flame. He took control of the kiss, attacking back with an ease that made Fenris blink in surprise; it was amazing how quickly the rogue could turn from submissive to incredibly dominant- and sexy as hell, as well. He resisted- just for an instance- battling the tongue that was plunging in his mouth with his own, growling back at him, before Hawke looked at him with eyes that had turned a stormy gray with arousal. The searing, primal look in those eyes, the sheer possessiveness of that one molten look, was enough to make Fenris' knees nearly buckle with hot, incendiary desire-and just like that, the question of who was going to be dominant this time was answered.

Fenris dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling in need as he battled the buckles and clasps of Hawke's armour and leather leggings, then pulled the tight leather down the rogue's muscled thighs, his mouth going to the length of erect flesh that was straining under his smallclothes. Hawke threw his head back and moaned, then his hands slipped into Fenris' white hair, gripping the silky tendrils in his gloved hands. He gave the elf a sizzling, lust-filled look, his gray eyes narrowing in primal need, then bit his lip.

"Do it," he commanded Fenris, firing his blood even more with the rough demand in his voice. "Take me in your mouth. Deep. Fenris...now."

Fenris' metal encased hands tightened on Hawke's thighs, making the rogue hiss with the little sting of pain, before he used his teeth to carefully drag Hawke's smallclothes to the side, freeing his erection. He eyed the thick, glistening with arousal rod that was already standing proudly in attention then licked his lips before taking Hawke deep in his throat, no preliminaries, no other fondling other than that of his throat working around the young rogue's length. One of Hawke's hands flew to his mouth, and he bit down on his gloved knuckles to stifle the tortured, ecstatic moan that nearly escaped him, his back hitting against the wall for support.

Fenris worked him with deep, suckling movements, using nothing but his tongue and mouth; his hands were still in his sharp-edged gauntlets, that were bloodying Hawke's thighs as they tightened on his flesh. The sting of pain served only to make Hawke more wanton though, to increase his pleasure. He growled, still biting hard on his hand, then his other hand tightened on Fenris' hair, yanking painfully, forcing the elf to take him deep inside, until his cock was almost fully embedded in the elf's throat.

Fenris swallowed around the thick length in his mouth, caressing him with the movement while he struggled not to choke. Hawke was lost, pushed beyond the threshold of his control. With a primal growl, he pulled out and yanked Fenris up then slammed him into the wall, face first. Only the palm he had used to cradle the smaller man's face kept Fenris from being painfully slammed into the masonry. The warrior trembled in need and yearning as the rogue's other hand made short work of his buckle then his breeches were lowered just enough for him to be able to widen his stance. Hawke muttered incoherently, and Fenris panted, preparing for the hard sting of pain that would come; there was nothing to ease the way here, nothing to use, other than the precome that Hawke's cock was leaking and his own saliva around the rogue's impressive, rigid length.

He gasped at the first feel of that swollen, mushroom-shaped head against his entrance, then closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath in order not to scream as it pushed inside him. Hawke was beyond being tender, beyond being careful. He shoved inside, pushing past the resistance of the already stretched opening with a brutal thrust, then stood still, his breath sawing against Fenris' ear.

"Fuck," the rogue growled. "Shit, you make me so hot. I won't last long."

Fenris growled back, the pain and pleasure of feeling that heavy, long cock balls-deep inside him already short-circuiting his brain. Hawke's mouth latched on to his ear, sucking and nibbling and Fenris nearly went cross-eyed with he added jolt of pleasure that shot through him. One long, drawn-out withdrawal, his flesh working to clench around Hawke, trying to keep him in, and he was already gasping for air, fighting desperately not to keen like a bitch in heat. Hawke moaned behind him, then swore luridly, before pushing back in- one abrupt, powerful thrust.

Fenris bit down on the hand that Hawke still had in front of his face, protecting him from the rough wall, then pushed back, forcing Hawke to withdraw again. The next thrust had him arching off the ground, standing on tip-toe, his upper torso rubbing against the tough stone, while he moaned brokenly.

"Sweet Maker," he could hear Hawke behind him, he could feel the way his whole frame trembled and his heart galloped in his chest; he could sense the desperate, deep intakes of breath he human was taking to help him hold on to his control- he didn't want that. He wanted passion, fire, a quick, rough fuck that would make that jumbled mess of emotions that had fisted around his heart loosen their grasp. He wanted it rough, and hard, and devoid of tenderness; tenderness confused him to no end, it made his heart ache.

Another thrust, brutal, painful and blissful at the same time as it found that sweet spot inside him again. He felt as if he was being torn in half, pain making him clench his teeth every time that thick, virile cock abused his already tender opening. At the same time, mind-boggling bliss spread in concentric circles from that spot deep inside him, feeding off the pain, burning him higher and higher. His own cock was jerking in need- it was so hard that it could drill a hole in the wall in front of him.

Hawke groaned- a deep, gut-wrenched sound of outmost bliss, possessive and primitive. He breathed a panting, guttural 'I love you' in Fenris' ear before erupting into a furious, punishing rhythm, pummelling him. The elf keened in distress and pleasure, arching back against Hawke, his body on fire, his heart exploding in his chest with the joy those whispered, heated words always caused him. It was too much, the physical and emotional attack combined- he came with a guttural cry, his markings alighting to shower the alley in a dull blue glow.

Hawke moaned into his ear as he felt Fenris jerk, his whole body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, his body clenching around his cock. Pleasure streamed down his spine, alighting every nerve ending and tingling along his spine. He delivered another few hammering thrusts-his pace erratic- before exploding into climax, his cock sinking impossibly deep to flood his lover with his seed. Fenris grunted, then his knees buckled, and Hawke managed to dredge up enough brainpower to give his muscles the command to move, just in time, his arms twining around the elf' slim build to support him. They slipped to their knees together, panting and trembling, trying to draw breath through their furious panting.

Fenris raised his head first, looking around in alarm, realising that in the throes of their passion, they had been incredibly loud. He closed his eyes, relieved when he saw no one was watching- the entrance to the alley was empty, thank the Maker, and there seemed to be no sign of movement from outside.

"That was..." Hawke moaned, as he withdrew from Fenris. "Damn. I have no words."

"Well," a voice sounded from outside the alley, "I'd say it was the fuck of the century, sweet thing, even though I only caught the end of it. So how far DO those markings go? I couldn't see."

Fenris' face erupted in a furious blush, while Hawke cringed.

"Fuck you, Isabela," Hawke growled, frantically straightening his clothes, eyeing a mortified Fenris with alarm.

"After what I just saw...anytime, Hawke. You're _good_." The Pirate Queen snuck her head in to wink at Hawke, making Fenris blush even more and lower his head to hide his face under the white bangs of his hair.

"Oh, for the love of...Fuck off Isabela, I'm warning you!" Hawke moved to shield Fenris from the lewd looks Isabela was giving him, while the elf frantically tried to buckle his clasps again. "Leave," Hawke growled.

"Possessive much, Hawke?"

"You have no idea," Hawke replied, his whole body tensed in anger. "Move, or I'll let him fist you, and not in a nice way."

"Ohhhh...you're just giving me ideas now."

Maybe it was a twisted sense of humour that the fates had, but for the third time in one day, Hawke said something that once again made him later look as if he had planned the whole thing, as if he had made some secret bargain with Lust. Once again, he cast himself in a light that would later make him seem like a villain, and Lust snickered at the delicious, twisted irony of it all.

"Damn it, Isa! You know I would do anything to make it work this time," Hawke's voice echoed, tense, with a hidden plea as he saw Fenris visibly hide behind his emotionally closed-off walls, as he saw the regret in his eyes. "I don't know what god or demon listened to my prayers, but he's back. Please, go. Let me have this."

There was a long silence from the pirate, then she heaved a theatrical sigh, mumbled "spoilsport!" to Hawke and left.

The walk back home was awkward and tense, and Fenris resisted all attempts by Hawke to lighten the mood by joking.

Hawke's heart fell, and his gait was tired and hesitant, fully believing that once they reached his estate, Fenris would continue walking, going past him to return to his rundown mansion. Instead, the elf stepped inside right after him, then leaned against the wall, heaved a sigh of relief, and looked at Hawke with a still mortified look.

"That was it," he said, his green eyes huge. "We're not leaving this house again."

Despite Fenris' embarrassment and his still visible blush, all Hawke could do was laugh- a happy, relieved sound, that bounced off the high ceiling to fill the empty mansion with joy, a sound that had been sorely missed from inside those walls.

Watching him, hearing that bubbly, boyish laughter, all Fenris could do was smile, as well.

* * *

They just slept together that night, too exhausted to do anything else than cuddle up together, falling asleep the minute their heads touched the pillows. Fenris woke the following morning from the sound of Hawke hauling bucketfuls of steaming hot water through the door, and blinked lazily as he rose on one elbow to observe the rogue fill the tub in the corner of the room, big enough for two.

"You are spoiling me," he muttered, his voice still groggy from sleep. A bath was an extreme luxury back in Tevinter, one that only magisters and their apprentices could afford. Even here, in the Free Marches, Fenris knew that very few elves had ever had the chance to indulge in a hot, bubbly bath- even Hawke most often cleaned himself with a wet washrag, standing up next to a basin of usually cold water.

Hawke turned around with a smile bright enough to rival the sunshine coming in through the drapes.

"You deserve to be spoiled a bit," he said, shrugging, dismissing yet another act of caring with nonchalance.

Fenris got up to approach the bathtub, and Hawke's eyes lit up at the predatory look in his eyes. "Is it my turn, again?" he smirked, eyeing the slowly hardening length of Fenris shaft with hungry eyes.

"Bath first," Fenris said, testing the water.

Hawke pouted comically, then shoved Fenris playfully. "In you go, then."

Fenris pulled him up for a deep kiss, that was familiar and jolting at the same time- he briefly wondered if the rogue's heady taste would ever stop surprising him with the wave of want it sent through him, if that first touch of lips on lips and tongues twining together would ever become mundane.

"Only of you join me," he muttered, peppering little kisses along Hawke's jaw line, that was now heavily stubbled. "And if you shave afterwards."

Hawke rubbed his jaw, then his smile widened cheekily, before pushing Fenris into the tub. The warrior was languid and contented enough so that his usual sharp reflexes had lapsed and he lost his balance with an uncharacteristic yelp, tumbling into the warm water, and coming up sputtering indignantly.

Hawke laughed, his head thrown back at the curses in Tevene Fenris shot at him, before joining him in the bath and throwing the sponge in his face.

"Come," he said, totally ignoring Fenris' grumbling. "You scrub my back, and I'll scrub yours."

The elven warrior gave him a dark, scowling look for a few seconds, as if he was contemplating whether he should drown Hawke in the bathwater instead, then he huffed and hunted for the soap.

Hawke yelped. "Hey! Ouch! That's not the soap!"

Fenris rolled his eyes, but in the end, he couldn't resist laughing.

* * *

After their bath, which they kept at innocent, yet intoxicating petting and soft kisses, they found themselves lounging naked on Hawke's bed; Hawke even took the time to change the soiled sheets, batting Fenris' hands away when he tried to help. They were stretched out on the sinfully soft cotton sheets now, that smelled of soap and sunshine, contented like two big cats basking in the sunlight.

Fenris could not remember another time when he had felt so at peace, so incredibly relaxed- and especially not in the presence of another person. It was amazing –and frightening- this feeling of belonging, this total acceptance. He had a feeling that this was returning home felt like after a long arduous journey, this was it felt like to actually _have_ a home. He turned to look at Hawke, who was languidly stretching his long body on the bed, totally unconcerned with his nudity, a soft smile of happiness playing around his mouth.

The urgent need to say something to him, to let him know what being here in this bed with him meant to Fenris clawed at his insides; he felt almost compelled to let the rogue know what measure of trust it had taken him to be here, how much these sunlit, heart-warming moments of laughter and togetherness meant to him.

More than anything in the whole wide world, more than sex, more than pleasure, the thing that had touched Fenris' heart the most was Hawke's easy, casual acceptance, the way the rogue could so easily make him laugh and smile, the way his dimpled smile could make shadows and ghosts of the past disappear like a poof of smoke. Every smile he shared with the tall human, every time his juvenile, quirky humour made him laugh, every time he gave him one of those nonchalant, tender moments of care and attention, Fenris felt his heart mend, the bitterness in his soul disappear like night being chased away by dawn.

But once again, the words could not leave him; they lodged themselves at the back of his throat, resisting his attempts to just make them come out.

Hawke stretched again, then sighed. "My whole body should be aching," he said, a little bit puzzled, "but I feel absolutely wonderful."

Fenris just hummed, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Are you sore or anything?" Hawke ran a tender hand down the elf's back. "I didn't hurt you back there in the alley, did I?"

Fenris hid his head more firmly against the pillow. It was awkward talking about things like this, awkward and wondrously intimate at the same time, because nobody had ever cared if his body was left hurting or broken after...he pushed thoughts of dark, humiliating experiences from his mind, refusing to let them tarnish the indolent contentment of this here moment in time with Hawke.

"I did, didn't I?" Hawke frantically turned him over, then scanned his torso for any injuries he had missed during the bath. "Oh, Maker! Why didn't you stop me?"

"Hawke..." Fenris caught the hand that was trailing down his body. "I am perfectly well."

Hawke looked into his eyes for a few moments, searching for the truth in his words, then he relaxed and leaned in to kiss him. "You look a little tense," he said. "How about a massage?"

And that was how Fenris –despite his protests- found himself turned onto his stomach, Hawke straddling his thighs from behind, moaning and sighing softly into the pillow as those long, talented fingers kneaded and rubbed every muscle.

Time halted; minutes blended together as every inch of his body was carefully, tenderly rubbed and petted, strong thumbs pressing circles into his overused muscles, chasing away tension he had no idea had been accumulating for so long. Every inch of him was left subtle and relaxed, every hurt erased. Hawke moved down his back, making him grunt when he exerted a little more pressure into spots were his muscles were bunched and knotted, and moan when he trailed feather light touches on areas that were surprisingly erogenous. He made his way down Fenris' legs, reaching his feet, massaged and spent what felt like hours kneading sore tendons, the soles of his feet, even his toes.

Warm oil was soon added, making the slide of Hawke's hands over his skin erotic. The lyrium lines sang and came alive under his talented touch, glowing faintly as the rogue's fingers gently rubbed over them. His calves; tension releasing with contented groans. The back of his knees; a strangely erotic spot, fire spreading through his body. His thighs; the firm globes of his ass; and there the touch turned passionate, erotic, darkly stimulating.

More warm oil scented the air as it trickled along the crack of his ass, and an almost pained moan escaped the rogue as he parted Fenris' cheeks and his fingers ghosted around the abused opening hidden between those mouth-watering globes of firm male flesh.

"Maker," Hawke moaned breathlessly. "That's so fucking hot. You're still leaking my seed."

A blush spread over Fenris' ears and his face, and he hid his face in the pillow, groaning as one finger gently caressed his opening before slipping in. Buried up to the first knuckle, Hawke spread the oil around mixing it with the seed that had still remained in Fenris, slicking him up. He arched off the bed, surprised and shocked, when Hawke buried his face between his cheeks, and licked boldly along his crack.

"What are you doing? _Vasta vass_ , Hawke, where did you learn to do that? I thought you were inexperienced."

"I never let anyone fuck me," Hawke chuckled, then bit playfully on his firm flesh, using his tongue to take the sting away immediately afterwards. "But I learned from a very experienced man, a mercenary back in Lothering."

"You must have been very young."

"Hmph... Yeah I was. Barely a teenager- sixteen, perhaps. But he treated me right. He never pressed me, or did anything I didn't want. Have you ever had an Antivan massage?"

Fenris was in the process of shaking his head no, pleasure making his responses slow, before Hawke answered for him. "Never mind. If you had, you would remember it. Well, messere Fenris, one Antivan massage, coming right up."

Fenris didn't have time to protest or question him. He hissed in pained pleasure as one finger returned to caress around the reddened rim of his ass, then pushed inside, crooked expertly, and rubbed against a spot that made his eyes cross with ecstasy.

"Maker..." he moaned, going lax under Hawke, and his erection jutting against his belly.

"Yep, that's about right," Hawke snickered. "Antivan massages can do that to you."

Another finger joined the first, carefully, tenderly, and the pressure increased, making Fenris writhe on the bed and thrust his hips in time with those tormenting fingers.

"Not so fast," Hawke's voice was hoarse. "It takes hours. Be patient."

He withdrew his fingers and shocked Fenris out of his mind with his next move, using his hands to better reveal the puckered opening then licking along, his tongue soothing the sore muscle. Fenris' whole body tensed; muted curses in Tevene escaped him as that talented tongue pushed slightly in, then withdrew to lick around the furled opening again.

The pattern repeated itself. Fingers, thrusting deep, curling to rub destructively slowly over an area that made Fenris' whole body tremble in pleasure. Then kisses along his buttocks, and Hawke's clever, lithe tongue slipping inside him, making him groan and moan like a tormented man. Fingers again, two at first, then three, loosening him up, making way for that hot, wet tongue to slip inside him, stroking him in a caress that was as erotic as it was depraved. One hand snuck down between his legs, cupping his tensed testicles, squeezing and caressing, while Hawke moaned with his mouth buried between the pert globes of his ass.

For long minutes that stretched into hours, the rhythm went on and one, _and on_ , turning Fenris into a creature of pure sensation. He came once, his aching shaft spurting jets of seed against his belly, drenching the bed sheets, but his erection only swelled further instead of abating. Those fingers, those torturously careful fingers, rubbing that sweet spot inside him, spreading fire and want. That voice, as Hawke crooned to him, whispering darkly erotic praise, urging his pleasure further, making him climb higher and hotter. It was such sweet agony, such an excruciating level of bliss, that Fenris lost all connection to reality. He was unable to do anything, other than moan Hawke's name, and enjoy.

He came again, moaning in that sinfully hoarse voice of his, and he kept on coming, one continuous orgasm rolling over him, reducing his mind to mush. Hawke turned him around, cursing under his breath, and took his aching, leaking length in his mouth, sucking down his seed, moaning at his taste, while those fingers continued their slow, destructive thrusts.

Fenris must have blacked out at some point, shattered by ecstasy so overwhelming, so complete, that his mind simply shut down. He could feel Hawke cuddling his wildly shuddering body as he fought to return to himself, as his heart galloped and his breath sawed in his lungs.

"Shhh..." He heard Hawke's soft voice crooning to him. "I've got you. Sleep. I'm here."

Fenris gave up, going completely lax in his arms, with a sigh and one last, tormented moan.

"I love you," was the last thing he heard before he was pulled into the Fade.

He slept like he had never slept before in his life; safe, contented, at peace. Hawke's arms around him, his breath fanning the fine hairs next to his sensitive ear, his heart thumping against his.

He napped for hours, the indolent peace of late noon, until hunger woke him up, his stomach grumbling. He snuck a look at Hawke, sleeping with a slight smile on his face, and sighed. The rogue sifted, and something hard poked Fenris on his belly. Looking down, he chuckled at the purplish, almost swollen length of Hawke's jutting cock; for a moment he was tempted to return the favour; his fingers actually itched with the desire to do to Hawke what he had done to him. The rogue would be a glorious sight, writhing on the bed, begging for him to finish him.

Desire roared inside him; he could not wait that long. He didn't have the patience to slowly, deliberately drive Hawke mad like he had. He slid down the rogues' body, and he licked down the swollen length making Hawke moan and wake to shoot him a lusty look of approval.

Before he even knew it, he had been turned around, his cock had disappeared down Hawke's throat, and a hand was pushing him down. With a groan, he complied, taking Hawke's shaft deep in his mouth, suckling him with abandon, while he slowly thrust his own cock in Hawke's eager mouth.

It took seconds for them both to finish, each of them swallowing down the seed shot in their mouths, moaning, breathless groans of pleasure echoing around the room.

Lust chuckled.

Just a few more times now, she thought as she drew from the pleasure and lust that made Hawke's heart flutter, stealing a piece of his soul as well, some of the young man's life essence.

Soon. Just a few more times now. It was a good thing the elf seemed to be insatiable.

She sent another tendril of desire through him, and watched in contentment as it led to the elf spooning the taller man from behind and ramming his cock inside him. She watched Hawke as he writhed on the bed, on hand clutched on the sheets, his mouth open in endless moans of pleasure and pain, in little grunting cries of the elf's name. She watched, pleased with herself, as the elf took him wildly, violently, hard enough to bruise; her host enjoyed it, if the cries of pleasure were any indication. She fed off the waves of bliss that made their sweat-slicked bodies tremble- they were so good, her pets, so lovely together. It made her drool to watch them.

Soon. She would let them rest for tonight, and resume her attack the following day, because this seemingly endless wave of desire might otherwise make them suspicious. Hawke's life force was sweet and his soul was filling and empowering. Already, the bonds that kept her captive in the jewel were beginning to weaken, as she recharged her power on the energy she stole off him. There was no need to rush, after all, she was enjoying them both too much to hurry.

Soon. It would only take her a day or two more.


	6. And so the beginning ends...

Varric tossed his cards down, and looked around the table. "I lose. Crap. Anders, what did you put in my drink?"

The mage chuckled and gathered his winnings. "Well, you had to lose some time."

"I can't concentrate. My mind is spinning," the dwarf shook his head. "The plot bunnies are attacking full force. How does 'Elf on the Shelf' sound?"

Isabela laughed from her end of the table. "Better try something more risqué," she said. "From what I saw...hot damn. I'd go with..."

"How about "A Pirate's Bleeding Heart'?" a voice interrupted from the doorway. They all turned to see Hawke, standing there, imposing in his Champion armour, Fenris standing behind him, a slight pink tingeing his high cheekbones under the white bangs of his hair. "I'll even let you get a little _sneak peek_. Fenris?"

The elf stepped forward, his whole body suddenly alight with a blue brilliance.

Isabela's eyes darted around the room. "Oh, come on Hawke," she cajoled. "Not even a _little_ teasing?"

"First smart comment and you'll see you aorta."

Isabela pouted, while Varric chuckled and patted the spot next to him. "Come, lovebirds," he said. "Sit down. And tell us all the filthy details. Was there any sweeping this time?"

"No sweeping," Fenris spoke up, as he took a seat next to Hawke. "Or moping."

Aveline looked around, alarmed. "Was that a joke? Did Fenris just make a joke?"

Anders looked at the Guard Captain and smiled sarcastically. "A lousy one, yes."

Varric shushed them with an impatient gesture. "Hawke. Spill. How did you do it?"

Fenris looked around the room. "Let us play cards," he suggested, wincing inside him at the interested, curious looks everyone was sending him and Hawke.

Varric looked from one to the other, then sighed and shuffled the cards. He decided to give them a little time- and a few pints of ale. Maybe they'd be more willing to share the details then. Maker knew, Hawke was a giddy drunk and often talked too much once he got a little tipsy. Sure, he had the stamina of a horse, it was very difficult to get him drunk, but it could be done. He could still remember that night when he had managed to drag the full story of what happened between him and Fenris from a sloshed Hawke. He shot the elf a critical look. Fenris could hold his liquor even better, though. He sighed and motioned to Norah.

"Get those nug-piss ales away from here," he said. "And tell Corff to send up the good stuff. My own personal reserve."

An eyebrow rose over Fenris' green eyes. "Brandy?"

"Starkhaven malt whisky," Varric smirked. "Puts hair on your chest."

He dealt the cards, and noticed that Hawke pulled out an amulet from inside his tunic and kissed it briefly before picking up his cards. "Hey, is that the amulet I gave you? You still have it?" he reached out to touch it, and uncharacteristically, Hawke drew back and his eyes narrowed.

"Don't touch it!" he hissed. "It's my lucky charm."

"Oh, come on, Hawke," Anders sneered. "You never were superstitious."

"This amulet has brought me all I have asked for," Hawke said. "It's like those genies in the stories. All I have to do is ask for something and it happens...hands off, all of you."

He hid the amulet in his tunic again, before Merrill, who had leaned forward to look at it, had a change to actually see it very clearly.

"You do realise those genies in the stories are demons, don't you Hawke?" Anders asked absentmindedly.

Inside the amulet, Lust curled up on herself, trying to keep her aura secret. She regretted loosening her control on her pets; they had ended up here, under the eyes of the blood mage and this strange mage, whose aura glimmered as if there was a piece of the fade locked inside his body.

She kept her head down all night, as her pets drunk and played and joked with their friends. Once they had left, that night, she was finally sure that there could be nothing that would ruin her plans: she would keep them secluded, until she was able to break free and eat Hawke's soul up.

That night, though, she hit the first obstacle. No matter how much she urged them, how much she send waves of lust through them, they refused to give her the violent, lust-addled fucking she needed; instead they had lain together for hours, just holding each other, not even speaking. When her influence became too much, the human took the elf again.

But damn that love, shining brightly in the human's heart; damn his whispered, tender loving. Love was like a shield around his soul as he took the elf like he was made of spun glass, crooning to him in the dark of the room, joining his flesh to his lover's with single-minded attention, almost with reverence. She had no defences against love that bright, that potent; tender, gentle loving could not sustain her. She got nothing out of that mating, nothing but frustration.

But she had time. She could wait. She cursed once more, as they lay asleep in each other's arms.

Soon.

They couldn't hide forever.

* * *

Hawke opened the door to let the rest of the group inside, smiling like a lunatic. He couldn't help it. Those last three days with Fenris had been more than he could ever hope for, more than he had ever dreamt. They had spent most of their time in bed, making love, then coming down to the kitchen to snack; most times that had led to stray caresses turning into heated embraces and a quick rut or two against walls, on the stairs, on the kitchen counter. They should both be feeling exhausted, completely drained, yet they were energised and cheerful, more than ready to tackle the long excursion to Sundermount. Amazingly, they didn't feel soreness of any kind too- it was further proof in Hawke's mind that they were made for each other.

Varric and Isabela filed in, followed by the mages, Anders and Merrill, while Aveline and Sebastian were a bit further away, discussing an incident in the Chantry; the Guard Captain had a small smile on her face while Sebastian's eyes were twinkling with mischief as he recited the latest gossip. It was something that never failed to make Hawke shake his head in confusion: how much these two liked to tittle-tattle like old fishwives. Of course, Sebastian drew the line at giving away information he had learned at the confessional, but Aveline, who had been snubbed by the nobility in Hightown when she had first been promoted to Guard Captain, loved to hear about instances where the snooty nobles embarrassed themselves.

Varric gave Hawke a long, appraising look, then his eyes gleamed with a impish, perceptive light, and he elbowed Isabela.

"Someone has had a good time, wouldn't you say, Rivaini?" he winked at the pirate, gesturing towards Hawke. "Look at that smile."

"A good shag will do that to you," she looked Hawke up and down, "though I'd bet it wasn't just one."

"More like twenty," Varric nodded, accessing Hawke's wide, joyous grin, his relaxed posture. "A day."

"Can the elf even walk?" Anders asked, a frown on his face. "I'm telling you Hawke, I'm not fixing his ass. Literally."

An unfriendly growl answered him, and then Fenris appeared, in his usual spiky armour, fastening one of his gauntlets to his forearm. "Watch it, abomination," he hissed, "lest you become overly acquainted with my fist."

"Eww..." Anders made a disgusted face. "Who knows where you last had your fist."

Sebastian, who had just walked in, caught the exchange and sent the both Hawke and Fenris a surprised, but glad look, then nodded to them, acknowledging their renewed status as lovers with his usual warm-hearted, indulgent grin. He considered himself a friend of both men, and he knew that underneath Hawke's casual, cheerful demeanour and Fenris' taciturn stoicism, lurked desire and longing . And since he hadn't been at the Hanged Man the previous night, he was just now learning of their reunion.

Merrill was eager to go, as the quest to Sundermount that day concerned her and the demon that she had made the bargain with; in her anxiety, she hadn't even paid attention to the whole exchange, and now her eyes widened as big as dinner plates as Hawke ruffled Fenris' hair and invited everyone to the kitchen for some tea before they left.

"What, just tea?" Varric laughed. "Don't tell me Orana didn't cook up a storm this morning?"

"Orana isn't here," Hawke explained. "She is spending a few days with the family of her fiancé, in the Alienage. And Bodahn and Sandal are on a fishing trip in the mountains. They're coming back today."

As he was speaking, he realised Fenris was hanging back, reluctant to join the rest of their companions, and he purposefully stayed back as well so that he could talk to him; he understood instinctively, knowing Fenris as well as he did, that the friendly ribbing and teasing was making him feel awkward. He caught the elf's gaze and smiled reassuredly.

"They're just teasing, Fenris," he whispered to his lover, his eyes warm. "They're happy for us, trust me."

A small smile of affection curled Fenris' lips before he squared his shoulders and raised his chin proudly. "I care not, Hawke. As long as you are happy, they are of no import. I am not ashamed of ...this."

Hawke's smile grew even wider- if that was even possible- and his heart fluttered in his chest, happiness and love warming him from the inside out. He had this sudden impulse to lean in and kiss the elf breathless, but Varric's teasing voice stopped him, just as he was bending forward.

"Hey, lovebirds," he called out. "No kissy faces now. Come. Tea, then demons. There'll be time later."

Varric wasn't often wrong, but this time...Hawke wished fervently later that he could have given Fenris that one last, happy, loving kiss. If he had known he wouldn't get another chance later, he would have, even with all his companions watching.

That last kiss he never got to give left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sense of biting regret, that never really went away. It left a taste like ashes on his tongue, of promises not kept, of dreams not realised.

Later, when he looked back to that moment, he knew it was the one when everything started going wrong, the moment that the Fates decided to spit in his face. A bitter smile crossed his face whenever he thought of it; he should have kissed Fenris. He should have bent over that full, luscious mouth, and tasted it for the last time.

He had thought that Varric was right, and there would be time later; little did he know, time was already counting backwards for Fenris and him; they had less than an hour left as lovers.

* * *


	7. chapter 7

Twenty minutes later, the group was about to leave, when the front door opened and Bodahn and Sandal walked in, carrying their heavy rucksacks on their backs, and fishing rods in their hands. Sandal immediately left his things on the floor to go greet Hawke's mabari, Hector, and Bodahn smiled brightly at the group.

"Ah, Messere Hawke!" he greeted his master with a jovial smile. "I trust you managed without us?"

Hawke smiled again, a delightful little boy smile, and nodded, blushing just a little. Bodahn immediately noticed it, as well as the way the elf was standing a little too close to his boss and he barely managed to mask his surprise.

"Enchantment!" Sandal cried out, and Fenris sighed under the laughter of all the group, knowing full well that whenever the dim-witted dwarf saw him, he called him just that.

"I am not one of your enchantments," he patiently explained once more then froze in place at the frowning, intense look on the young dwarf's face- plus the fact that he was looking at Hawke, not at him.

"Bad enchantment!" the young dwarf's eyes were wide with something that looked like fear and alarm, pointing an accusing finger at Hawke. The rogue looked around him, then pointed a hand to his chest.

"What? Me?"

He didn't get a reply, other than Sandal marching up to him and jabbing a finger in his stomach. "Bad," he said again. "Bad enchantment!"

Hawke's eyes were wide with surprise, and before he even had a chance to ask the dwarf what was wrong, Sandal grabbed the amulet that was hanging around Hawke's neck, ripped it off, then flung it against a wall.

"SANDAL!" his father shouted, appalled. "I'm so sorry Messere!" He turned to Hawke who was still looking at the usually quiet dwarf with wide eyes. "I don't know what got into him."

"Bad enchantment," Sandal muttered again, calm again, that otherworldly light that had lit his eyes for a few moments gone now, to be replaced by his usual doe-eyed innocence. "Scary."

Hawke was about to squat down to talk to him, when a hand landed on his shoulder and he felt Justice's blue glow light up the room behind him. At the same time, a voice, soft and mellifluous, but infused with incredible malevolence, started laughing, the sound sending chills down his spine. He turned around, and then lost his breath on a surprised gasp.

A demon was standing where the amulet had broken, a desire demon clad in nothing but a sheer piece of fabric around her hips, her eyes as red as the ruby on the amulet had been. She was softly chuckling, looking at the horrified companions, but especially at Fenris and Hawke.

"Ah, my pets," she laughed, "I was planning to have so much fun with the two of you," her eyes glinted with viciousness. "But my sport has been cut short."

"Be gone, foul demon!" Justice roared behind Hawke, who was frozen on the spot, revulsion and shock rooting him to the ground. That thing had been inside the amulet? The one that had been hanging around his neck? Maker! What had it done to him?

The demon raised her hand, talking to Justice. "I have done nothing different than what you have, spirit," she smiled cruelly. "I harmed no one; my human benefited from my presence, which is more than I can say for yours."

Hawke paled. "What do you mean?" he stuttered, while Varric quickly cocked a bolt and grabbed on to his elbow, trying to make him move.

"Hawke," he tried to get the rogue's attention. "Kill first, ask questions later."

"What do you mean?" Fenris raised his sword as well, his whole body tensed. "Answer me!"

The demon turned her attention to the elf and smiled again, swaying seductively. "I granted him his wish, my sweet, sweet elf," she crooned to Fenris. "I gave _you_ back to him."

Hawke drew in a deep breath, and held it, until he felt he might black out from lack of oxygen. His brain nearly shut down from the shock, mercifully short-circuiting, going completely blank with astonishment and horror. He didn't notice anything else, not the battle that unfolded, not his companions fighting with the demon, not the evil, malicious magic that the demon unleashed as she fought for her life. He didn't notice when the demon fell dead, or when all his companions turned to him with accusing, mistrustful looks on their faces.

A metal encased hand suddenly backhanded him across the cheek, making his head toss violently to the side. He blinked, then shook his head, and his thoughts returned to him, along with a searing, agonising stab of pain that nearly ripped his heart in two. He kept hearing the words ' _I gave you back to him_ ' again and again and again, echoing in his head, and ached inside as he realised that Fenris hadn't come back to him; he had been _brought_ back by a demon.

He slowly turned his head, the pain on his cheek finally registering though the heartbreak and came face to face with a furiously angry, incensed Fenris.

"Fenris," he breathed, his eyes full of pain.

The elf raised his hand and backhanded Hawke with all his might again, the metal spikes on his gauntlet ripping through his flesh and leaving bloody welts on the rogue's left cheek.

"You bastard!" he hissed, his velvety baritone made gravelly by fury, his eyes shooting fire at the tall human. "You filth! You made a deal with a demon to make me...YOU RAPIST!"

A collective gasp went around the room, and Hawke just stood there, his one hand on his bleeding cheek, the other on his bleeding heart.

"I...I didn't...I. No. Fenris...No. Don't say that. I didn't...you wanted me."

"Wanted you?" the elf's voice was quiet, but hard as steel- eerily calm but threatening, cutting Hawke as deep as a razor. "I never wanted you. I was forced into this; you used a demon! You are worse than the magisters, worse than Danarius."

Hawke lowered his head, his heart torn into ribbons, the pain making his breath hitch. _Worse than Danarius_ , he thought, the notion causing his stomach to roll and bile rise to his throat. He felt his eyes sting; sweet bride of the Maker, he was going to cry. He couldn't cry, not in front of everyone. He clenched his fists, and hastily erected his emotional walls, hiding his heartache behind a grin and a joke; his usual defence.

"I only used my charm and good looks," he smirked, but the smile was strained, brittle, and the tone of voice was so far removed from humour that the words sounded wrong, obscene, the absolute opposite of what they should have sounded like. Varric cringed, and Sebastian groaned, while Isabela slapped her hand on her face. They all remembered what Hawke had said that night at the Hanged Man, that the amulet had brought him luck, that it had brought his fondest wish to life, and they all cringed and shook their heads, his words suddenly twisting in their minds making them believe that Hawke had meant something much more sinister than they had thought; that he had indeed made a deal with the demon. None of them wanted to believe it, but the evidence against the rogue was compelling.

And now he was making jokes about it.

"Oh, Hawke," Merrill sighed. "That's not funny. Did you really make a bargain with that demon? After all the times you lectured me about it? If you used a demon...you took his free will away, you made him... He had no other option than to come to you."

Aveline's voice rang cold and disapproving. "That's rape, Hawke. I should arrest you."

"May the Maker have mercy on your soul," Sebastian added.

"Is it true, Hawke?" Isabela's voice was unusually soft and subdued.

Anders was shaking his head and sighing. "Oh, Hawke," he added his two-bit. "What possessed you to do that?"

"A demon," Fenris growled. "You should know what it's like."

Varric knelt by the broken amulet and picket the pieces up, then wrapped them in a handkerchief and shoved it in his pocket. To Anders' questioning look, he replied with a shrug and a sad look. "I put it around his neck," he said. "I have to look into it, find out more. How did that demon end up in there? Who locked it in?" he then looked at Hawke. "Should we have someone check him over?" he asked about Hawke as if he wasn't even in the room. "He made a deal with a demon. Maybe we should...you know. The templars?"

Hawke's fake smile withered and died as he looked around the room, to the accusing faces that where frowning at him. His eyes widened at the reproachful looks, at the way some of them were shaking their heads in derision. When they started speaking, and he realised how little they thought of him, his heart gave another painful lurch in his chest, and his hands started trembling. He looked at his companions, his most trusted friends, the people he would have died for, and wondered if any of them would speak up for him, if any of them would defend him. Varric's comment shocked him speechless, that they should give him to the templars, and he closed his eyes, something dying inside him. Trust, friendship, companionship...they wailed as they died inside him, those principles he always held so high, and he swallowed hard, then opened his eyes again. Aveline was tutting, for Maker's sake, he noticed and an absurd, totally unreasonable little bubble of laughter nearly climbed to his mouth. _Maker. They all think that...Andaste's tits. But Fenris will understand_ , he thought, _once_ _I_ _explain, he will_... _He will understand. I made no deal...Fenris loves me...doesn't he?_

He then looked at Fenris, still livid, still tensely held at the ready in front of him, his nostrils flaring with his anger, his breath strained, his markings thumping with his heartbeat. He read nothing but hatred in those eyes, nothing but anger and revulsion.

"You said it brought me to your bed, you repulsive piece of filth!" Fenris lashed out again, his fists tightened to the point where the spiky talons of his gauntlets threatened to pierce his palms. "I should just rip your heart out and rid the world of the likes of you."

"Fenris, please, listen to me. I would never...damn it, I love you, you know that!"

Fenris took one threatening step forward, his eyes narrowed with anger, and his lip curled in a derisive, disgusted frown. "Well, I don't," he spat. "I was brought here by that fucking pet demon of yours, not of my own free will!"

The sound a heart made when it broke, Hawke found out at that moment, was a strange, bizarre sound. It didn't resemble anything like breaking glass; it was a thump that suddenly faltered, a heartbeat that was lost, a stumbling step in that well ordered rhythm. The pain was hot and cold enough to numb you, he learned, to make you lose feeling in your fingers and toes.

Another smile curled his lip on one side, self deprecating and so sad, so heartbroken, that even Fenris drew back at its sight. The corner of that small grin started shaking, and tears flooded Hawke's gray eyes, making them shine like silver. He took one last look around the room, making every single one of his companions feel inexplicably guilty with the expression of abject betrayal on his face, the hurt in his eyes.

"Please, Fenris," his voice trembled, then broke as he turned to the elf again. "Please...Believe me...I'm begging you. I made no deal, I didn't know..."He raised one hand towards the elf, beseeching the warrior with his eyes, with everything in his soul to believe him, but Fenris drew back, flinching out of his grasp.

The last thing all of them saw of Hawke was that hand clenching into a trembling fist, the fist lowering, his lips tightening into a thin line. They saw him gulp, swallowing heavily, then close those luminous gray eyes. They saw him draw in a couple of deep, shuddering breaths, then saw that always held high, proud head of his lower down in despair and disappointment.

Then Gabriel Hawke turned on his heel, and walked out of his own home, and out of all their lives. He gave them one last look over his shoulder as he left, looked around the room, as if to make sure that these were his friends, that this was the man he loved, that it wasn't a dream, an illusion created by that foul demon.

One look, his eyes ghosting over all their faces, hurt and confusion in his eyes. Blood trickled down his cheek and he raised a hand to wipe it, then looked at it as if he didn't recognise it. Bodahn cried his name, and his dog made a move to rush up to him, whining pitifully. His gaze fell on his dog, and he snapped his fingers, then pointed to the floor next to his feet, commanding the dog to heel.

"Hector," he said, his voice ghostly thin.

The dog woofed at them as it trotted to its master's side, then the door closed behind them. They all stood there, looking at each other with shock still on their faces, avoiding to look at Fenris, who just stood there, frozen in place, almost vibrating with anger. His markings flashed- a swear escaped him.

A howl sounded from the street, fading in the distance- a bloodcurdling yowl of sadness and pain. It made all of them cringe- the huge mabari had only cried like that the day Bethany had been taken away and the night Leandra had died.

Once again, Hector was doing what Hawke couldn't- he was crying for his master.

* * *

Sebastian sighed wearily, then prepared to leave the cramped, stuffy box of the confessional, feeling restless and bored. He needed to stretch his legs and take a breath of fresh air to clear his head; it was difficult not to give in to the sense of disappointment these sessions left in his soul- he tried to tell himself that he was doing the Maker's work, helping people relieve their hearts of the sins that burdened them, but it wasn't easy.

Petty crimes, jealousy. Evil thoughts and the pettiness of human soul, laid bare in front of him every day; it disgusted him, made him loathe the same people that he was supposed to be providing solace to.

_I want my brother's wife. I stole. I cheated. I beat my children. I drink. I killed a man in anger. I lied_.

Every day, the darkness of the human soul revealed to him; and he was supposed to help these people find their way back to the Maker, while all he wanted to do was grab onto them by their necks and shake them until they realised that this was why the Maker had left humankind, because their souls were too dark, too corrupt, too evil.

He was about to open the curtain that separated his section from that of the people confessing, to let air in, so that the stench of wickedness and guilt would dissolve, when he heard a rustling from the other side.

He uttered the usual words, out of habit, his deep burr sounding irritated and bored, not even remotely compassionate.

"Speak, you who seek the Maker's ear. Unburden your soul and ask for the Maker's benevolence, in the blessed name of Andraste, his prophet and beloved bride."

Silence met his words, and he repeated them, starting to feel more annoyed. So , it was going to be one of these days, when a housewife would make him sweat before admitting her greatest sin- stealing an apple from the greengrocer or something like that.

"Speak, child," he repeated when for the second time the person on the other side remained silent. "The Maker understands."

"Does he?" a voice chuckled bitterly.

"Hawke?" Sebastian's hand went to the curtain, alarm in his voice. No one had seen hide not hair of Hawke for the last three days.

"Sebastian, no," the rogues voice stopped him as he was about to draw the curtain back. "I am here to...talk to the big guy, not you."

Sebastian froze in place, torn between his duty and his worry about Hawke.

The man on the other side took a deep breath and then murmured the appropriate words.

"Hear me, oh Maker, and grant me absolution. I have erred in your eyes."

Sebastian drew his hand away from the curtain; once these words had been spoken he had to hear everything that Hawke had to say, and he was bound by oath to confidentiality. The sanctum of the confessional meant that Hawke could admit to anything and Sebastian wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it. He fervently prayed he wasn't going to hear anything that would make him respect Hawke even less, because -despite his worry- he was acutely disappointed with the young rogue and the choices he had made.

"The Maker hears you, child," he offered, cringing inside at how formal his words were. "Speak. How have you erred?"

A few long minutes of silence followed, which increased Sebastian foreboding anxiety. He was just about ready to ask Hawke again, when he heard him mumble something, his voice lost and small, too quiet for him to hear.

"What did you say?" he asked, leaning towards the curtain. "I didn't hear you."

"I said," Hawke spoke up, "I raped a man."

The ex-Prince drew in a deep breath and held it, something in his gut sank like a stone as if, somehow, despite seeing it with his own eyes, he hadn't wanted to believe it. But now, if Hawke was admitting it so freely...Oh, Maker. It was true, then?

"I didn't know there was a demon in the amulet," Hawke kept whispering. "I had no idea. It didn't offer me anything, I didn't make any bargains or deals. I don't know what happened. But it read my heart, somehow...it brought Fenris back to me." His voice broke and Sebastian heard him try to swallow down to clear his throat. "I thought...If I had known..."

Sebastian's heart skipped a beat and everything seemed to fall still for a moment. It had never occurred to him that Hawke simply hadn't known there was a demon in the amulet. It had been a foolish assumption now that he thought of it. All of them had seen demons worm their way into the lives of unsuspecting people. If Hawke truly hadn't known-"Hawke! If you didn't know about the demon you didn't rape him!"

A bitter little chuckle escaped the other man. "So what. He was still fucked, wasn't he? I still took him against his will. Merrill was right. He had no choice. That is rape, no matter the excuses."

The bitter little laugh sounded again. "The only thing is...he was fucked, I was screwed. Royally. I thought he had come back to me because he...but that will never happen."

Sebastian felt a wave of pity flood his heart at the broken, dejected tone of the man he called his friend. "Hawke..." he tried to say, to offer his friend some comfort, but Hawke had started speaking, and nothing could stop him.

"He was raped, there is no denying it...the amulet took his free will away from him, and that ...that is rape, plain and simple. But I was raped too. That thing used my love, my want, my dreams...it got inside my heart and used my feelings against him and me both. It raped my soul, Sebastian."

"Talk to him," Sebastian urged the rogue, "explain to him! He will understand. He will forgive you. It wasn't your fault, Hawke!"

Hawke sneered. "He won't listen to me. And he won't forgive me. And even if he does...I won't forgive myself. It's over, Sebastian. I am over. I lost a bit of myself back there...I don't think I'll ever be the same."

Sebastian felt tears sting his eyes; he couldn't take the forlorn, broken-hearted tone in Hawke usually cheerful voice, he couldn't take the air of dejection that was coming off in waves from a man that always used to be larger than life itself. He looked desperately for any kind of comfort he could offer his friend, but came up short. Talking to him about the Maker and forgiveness seemed so hollow, nothing but an empty platitude.

"You said...you asked the Maker to have mercy on my soul, Sebastian," Hawke's voice nearly broke. "Did you really believe that..."

Sebastian hesitated for a moment- he lowered his head and bit his lip. His first instinct was to deny it, to swear that he hadn't believed it for a minute. But...that would be a lie. "I didn't want to believe it. Deep inside, where it matters, I did not."

A bitter chuckle echoed again, filling Sebastian with guilt. "Liar. You all believed it. You all looked at me with disgust. The thing is, though...I can't look at myself in the mirror anymore without seeing that look on my own face, too. So I don't blame you... Not much, anyway."

Sebastian realised with a jolt that Hawke had stood up from the creaking groan the bench gave and panicked. "Don't go Hawke," he beseeched the man.

"You never did tell me, Sebastian...Does the Maker forgive my sin?"

"I see no sin here, Hawke."

"I do. Does the Maker forgive it?" The rogue insisted.

"The Maker forgives anyone who comes to him with a penitent heart and honest regret," Sebastian said, his voice sad. "But you must also forgive yourself. And us."

The rustle of the curtain as Hawke exited nearly drowned the rogue's last words.

"I would if I could, Sebastian."


	8. Chapter 8

Sebastian would have made more of an effort to make Hawke stay, if he'd just known where his next steps would lead him. True, he had told Hawke he needed to talk to Fenris, to make him understand...just not yet. He would have begged him not to go, reasoned with him against it. Or he would have at least insisted on going with him, because he had seen Fenris briefly the previous day...and Fenris was in a murderous mood. Instead, he stayed in the confessional, praying for his young friend, milling ways in which he could help over and over in his head.

His prayers did Hawke no good, though.

Darkness had started descending over Kirkwall as Hawke made his way to Fenris' mansion, his every step laden with guilt. He knocked on the door that was hanging on its hinges, then entered, sighing heavily.

He walked into the room that Fenris occupied, looking around the room for the elf, rehearsing all the words he would say in his head. He was willing to drop down on his knees and beg, do anything for a chance of forgiveness, for a chance to be believed. He hadn't made any deals with any demon; he never would allow Fenris to be coerced like this for anything and anyone in this world. Fenris had to believe it, had to see it.

Something slammed into him from behind, knocking the breath out of him, and he gasped, then fell forward to his knees with the force of it. Before he had time to recover, something pushed him backwards, and he found himself flying into the wall, slamming his head back strongly enough to make him see stars.

And then...pain. Horrid, unbearable pain, a sensation of something alien in his chest, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird, his body going numb with a blazing flash of agony. His vision cleared to be met with Fenris' furious green eyes, and he looked down, incredulous, to see the elf's glowing fist embedded in his chest.

Then...agony. A series of disjointed impressions. A gasping, gurgling breath. Everything inside him panicking, tightening, hurting. His vision going black, getting lost into a tunnel, his blood stilling in his veins.

It felt surreal, like it was happening to someone else, like he was watching his own body writhe and gasp for breath from a distance. Only the pain kept him grounded, those few horrible, mind-shattering seconds of excruciating suffering as his heart was squeezed in a metal fist.

"Never," Fenris growled and tightened his fist, " _never_ come near me again."

He removed his fist just as Hawke was blacking out, and then stood over him, trembling in rage, as the rogue slowly came to, shaking his head and wavering down to his toes. He watched in cold detachment as Hawke struggled for breath, then raised himself slowly on his knees and hands and retched on the floor, blood and bile coming out of those lying lips of his.

A strangled moan, a wildly shuddering hand wiping a wobbly mouth, then his voice, hoarse, rough, anguished. "I came to..."

"I don't care." Fenris landed a kick against the human's already bruised ribs, making the young rogue curl up in pain. "We have said all there was to say. Go."

Hawke stood on trembling, wobbly legs, but never once looked at Fenris; the sight was like a thousand knife wounds and he couldn't take it, not while his heart was literally bleeding. He turned to go, his head bowed low, his step still shaky, his one hand clasped over his heart. For the first time in the time he had known Fenris, he felt fear- fear for the man he'd fallen in love with on first sight, the man he had trusted with his life.

He bit his lip not to cry; tears were weakness, and he wasn't weak. He was the Champion of Kirkwall, a competent fighter, a strong man. He wouldn't cry, not here, not in front of a man that never loved him, never cared for him.

"I didn't know," he said as he was crossing the threshold, one shaking arm supporting his frame against the doorframe, still not looking back. "I am sorry."

A few curses on Tevene followed his slow, agonised progress down the stairs. His wobbly legs carried him to the front door and a few steps after that, before he collapsed.

Sebastian happened to be passing by, at that very instance, having overcome his reluctance to get more involved than he already was, and heading to Hawke's mansion to talk to him. He rushed to his side, gasping in shock at the deadly pale look on his face. He quickly helped him on his feet and then to his house.

A little time later, as Hawke's servants undressed him and helped him to his bed, the tall ex-prince stood by for the longest time, looking at that angry, spreading black bruise over Hawke's heart, shaking his head as his servants wrapped a bandage over his cracked ribs.

"You went to Fenris?"

Only a nod answered him, and Hawke tossed back a health potion, before turning on his side and pulling the covers over him. He curled up like a baby under the heavy blankets, like a child looking for a safe place to hide until the storm passed.

"Did he do this to you?"

Not even a nod answered him this time.

Sebastian sighed, then shook his head. "He's still angry, Hawke, you shouldn't have gone there- not by yourself. "

A little chuckle escaped the rogue. "I know."

"I...I don't know what to tell you Hawke. I believe you when you say that you didn't know, but..."

"Save it, Sebastian," Hawke closed his eyes tightly. "I know, alright? I know. I'm a freaking monster. A rapist." Sebastian started to object but fell silent at the dark look on Hawke's face. "Leave me be. Go away. I deserved this...I deserve more than this. Go away...I want to be alone."

In the end Sebastian could do nothing but comply.

* * *

Anders was working on his manifesto when Sebastian burst through the door a couple of days later, gleaming in his ridiculously expensive armour, crossing the space to his desk with long, determined strides. It had taken him at least a day to convince himself that he needed to act, after hours of prayer and silent contemplation. It took him almost another day to convince Varric to give him the amulet- and when he'd tried to locate Anders, the mage had been absent.

The blond healer leaned back and waited for the ex-Prince to tell him what he wanted, but instead of speaking, instead of even greeting him, the rogue dropped a handkerchief on the table and pointedly looked at the mage.

With his curiosity piqued, Anders cast the ex-prince a long questioning look and then unwrapped the fabric, to gasp in surprise at the sight of the broken amulet that housed that demon.

"Why did you bring me this?" he narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. "This evil thing should be burned..."

"I need the blighted thing examined so I got it from Varric, but...I didn't bring it to _you_ ," Sebastian said cautiously. He nodded at the look of understanding that the mage gave, then he spoke Justice's name softly. He didn't have to wait too long, as Anders' eyes rolled back, his skin lit up with a blue glow and the booming voice of Justice filled the room.

"Very well, Priest," the spirit nodded. "I will examine the amulet and see if any deal had been made with the demon that resided in it. I presume this is what you desire of me?"

Sebastian took one step back, but refused to let himself be intimidated by the spirit's presence, which he always found unnerving. "Hawke says he didn't know, and that he didn't strike any bargain with the demon. Is it true?"

The broken pieces lit up as the spirit weighted them in his palm, before putting both hands over them and closing its eyes. After just a few seconds of concentration, Justice opened his eyes again, and nodded.

"He speaks the truth. This vile creature was one of the most insidious of its kind. Demons like this are nourished by strong emotion; what you mortals call passion, desire, lust. It uses them to gain strength, and manipulates its victims so that they better provide those emotions for it. Most often, it grants them their darkest, deepest wish, their heart's desire, and feeds off their happiness. Until it grows strong enough to break free."

Sebastian felt a shiver race down his spine. "What happens to the host then?"

"The host's soul is destroyed and then his body is possessed."

"I see. Did the amulet make Fenris return to Hawke?"

The spirit looked thoughtful. "While demons manipulate emotions and desires, mortal, they cannot plant them. The elf must have felt something for the human, otherwise he would have been impervious to the amulet's influence."

"So what you are telling me," Sebastian felt the first stirrings of hope for his friends, "is that if Fenris didn't want to go back to Hawke, nothing the demon had done would have made him do so."

"Precisely."

"How did the demon end up in the amulet, then?" Sebastian wondered out loud and the spirit moved his hand over it again.

"I cannot determine that. I am tempted to believe the demon convinced some poor unsuspecting mage to evoke some ancient Tevinter ritual; it was like a well spun web, that it used to lure in unsuspecting victims."

Sebastian nodded his thanks to the Spirit and waited until the blue glow had faded and Anders found his bearings once again. He then quickly told the mage of his findings, and together with a horrified, frantic Anders, he set about to inform the rest of the group of how much they had misjudged Hawke.

"Do you think he will forgive us?" Anders asked, his face tight with worry. "Damn it, we should all have known better to trust in a demon's words. When I remember how he looked at us..."

"He looked betrayed," Sebastian sighed, his cerulean eyes dimmed by sorrow. "And you know what? He was."

Anders just nodded.

* * *

When Sebastian and Anders reached the Hanged Man, most of the members of Hawke's band of misfits were assembled, except for Fenris and Hawke himself.. Isabela was also missing, but they didn't really think about it. At this time of day, she was usually at the Rose, getting over her hangover by drinking even more. Sebastian took one look around, and realised immediately that this was not a casual meeting.

Varric's next words confirmed his suspicion. "Choir Boy, Blondy! I was just about to send a messenger to get you."

A questioning look by both men urged the dwarf to elaborate.

"Look," he pointed towards the parchment on the table. "I just saw this on the wall outside the Hanged Man, and Hawke sent us a message he wants to meet us at three bells."

Sebastian approached the table, and picked the parchment up, examined it quickly, then passed it on to Anders. A heavy sigh escaped him. Behind him, Anders gasped at the words, then started asking questions. "Competent fighters wanted to join the Champion of Kirkwall on his quests? Hawke is hiring? What about us?"

"Maybe it's for the best," Aveline muttered. "I don't know if I have follow Hawke after what he's done."

Varric sighed. "Still I don't want to believe it; even with all the evidence against him. Hawke all but admitted it, hinting so many times." Varric shook his head. "I don't know if I could follow him anymore either. Not after what he's done."

Anders let the parchment drop and exchanged a look with Sebastian. "About that..." he said, and sat down to explain what he and Sebastian had discovered.

Expressions filled with guilt and relief greeted the end of his tale, and Sebastian looked around him, at the wide eyed stares, at the heads that had bowed down.

One by one, the companions erupted into speech. They were all saying the same thing, and Sebastian looked around the room, frowning. They were all saying how they hadn't believed it for a minute, but he could remember another story, where they had all stood away from Hawke, looking at him with horror and revulsion, accusing him. He remembered the expression of betrayal that had made Hawke's eyes water- he remembered how he, and everybody else, had taken the demon's words at face value.

The sound of sniffling in the corner caught his attention and he turned to see Merrill, her hands covering her face, sobbing. "Oh, Hawke..." she hiccupped amidst her sobs. "Oh, Creators, the things we all said. The things that Fenris said!"

Silence. Heads bowed even more, as they all silently admitted to their guilt.

"Well, boys and girls," Varric said in the end. "We've put out collective feet in our mouths, it seems, and we're in for a nice healthy helping of crow. "

Aveline sighed. "I'll have three, if it helps."

"Has anyone seen the elf those past days?" Anders questioned. "Or Hawke?"

"Hawke came to the Chantry," Sebastian said. He raised his hand to stave off the questions he saw forming on everyone's lips. "I cannot tell you. I am under oath. He gave formal confession, and I cannot reveal what he said. But...he wasn't well. I saw him briefly later too. He...went to see Fenris. Barely made it out alive."

Varric sighed. "All we can do is wait. He'll be here soon."

At three bells exactly, not a moment sooner, not a minute later, they heard steps echoing in the corridor outside, and Hawke walked in. He paused at the door, looked around with a scowl on his handsome face, then took a seat, moving wearily, as if just being in the room was causing him physical pain.

He ordered a pint from Norah, that had followed him in the room laden with a tray of mugs, and leaned back on his chair, looking at them all with an unreadable expression on his face. They all noticed the dark circles under his blood-shot eyes, as well as a bruise on his cheek. Three rugged slashes, red and angry-looking, were marring his left cheek, where Fenris had hit him; he had obviously not taken care of the wound, letting it scab and fester.

And they all noticed, with reactions varying from gasps to soft, sad eyes, that his hair –his pride and joy, his one vanity- was cut short, cropped carelessly like it had been hacked with a knife.

"Did you get into a fight, Hawke? With about twenty feral cats or something?" Varric asked him, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but only received a cold look in answer.

"Hawke," Anders leaned in. "Justice examined the amulet. It wasn't your fault, my friend, you didn't know. The demon used you."

They had thought they would see relief on the rogue's face, but instead it hardened even more, and a bitter little smile appeared for a brief second. "That's so good to know," he drawled sarcastically. "Give Justice my thanks, but I figured it all out on my own. There was an old book on demons in the library...anyway. I figured it out."

"We're sorry we even thought that you could..." Aveline started to apologise, but a curt gesture from Hawke interrupted her.

"Keep your apologies, Guard Captain," the rogue hissed. "I have no need of them."

"Come on, my boy," Varric said next. "What were we supposed to believe? You must admit...it was where all evidence pointed to. But we're your friends, Hawke. We didn't stop caring for you."

Hawke turned cold gray eyes towards the dwarf, making him cringe.. "You were supposed to believe that I would have died before I..." his voice broke and he looked away for a second, before his face hardened again and he settled back in his chair. "Nevermind," he said in a tight voice. "It's for the best. I finally know what you all think of me. For days my friends all let me believe I was a monster," he leaned forward on his chair. I came so close to..." his voice caught, a dark storm of emotion swirling in his eyes. "If Bodahn hadn't..." the emotion hardened to steel. "None of you cared to check up on me. None of you cared if I lived or died."

The whole room fell silent at this, none of them knowing what to tell this stern-faced, sombre man among them; this stranger. This wasn't the Hawke they knew, ready with a smile at all times, free with his affection, always cracking a joke, always finding humour in all situations. This man, sitting there, looking at them all as if they were his enemies, was not the man they had all come to love and care for. This man, bitter, accusing, was not Hawke.

Isabela burst in, breaking the awkward, tense silence. She marched straight to Hawke and –to everyone's surprise- she grabbed on to one of his hands, and pushed the fabric of his sleeve back.

A collective gasp of shock went around the room at the dark, moulted bruises that decorated Hawke's skin, the rope marks around his forearms – and the badly healed slashes, the bandages that were still blood soaked. But the rogue just grinned, one corner of his mouth raising up in that self-mocking, sarcastic little smile again.

"It's true then?" Isabela let his hand fall and Hawke just looked at his bruises, with a disinterested, almost bored look. "You did Rey? Rey the Hulk? Maker, Gabriel, that man is a beast! The whole Rose is talking about it!"

The rogue simply shrugged again. "I don't see how that is anyone's business, Isabela," he took a sip of his drink. "Or are you upset you missed _that_ show, as well?"

The pirate's eyes sparkled with anger. Without a trace of lewdness, with all her causal, carefree teasing tone gone, Isabela jabbed a finger on Hawke's chest. "You fool! Do you know how many people he has maimed? Do you know how lucky you are he didn't cause you any permanent damage? He's a monster, Hawke, he gets off by causing pain."

The smirk got a little wider. "I know."

Several of the group sucked in a sharp breath of air, realizing the implications. Merrill covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes huge, and Aveline bowed her head, wincing. Anders made a move to get closer, healing magic already sparkling along his fingers, but Varric held him back, nodding negatively. Hawke wasn't in the mood for healing; it was obvious. Varric focused his attention on the face of the young man he had been so fond of form the first day he had met- _his boy_. He winced, remembering that when he had first called Gabriel like that, the rogue had offered him a smile bright enough to shame the sun.

That smile was nowhere to be seen now- Gabriel looked as if he would never smile again. Varric' boy was gone- an old man was looking at them, bitter and disappointed with the world.

"What else did he do to you?" Isabela was incensed now, her brown eyes narrowed with rage. Her fingers trembled as she tried to pull Hawke's shirt up to look at his body. "You idiot! You let him tie you up? Did he beat you? One of the girls in the Rose...she can't walk anymore Hawke! He broke her spine! He's a rapist!"

"It's a match made in heaven, then," Hawke causally observed, and Isabela's hands stilled on his chest.

"Hawke..." she just mumbled but he pushed her away, not even looking at her, then calmly rolled down his sleeve again.

"We..we never said that, my boy," Varric's voice was soft, apologetic. "We never believed it."

"Shut the fuck up, Varric." Hawke got up, his movements laboured and betraying the pain he was in. "I'm through with being fed this bull. I came here today to tell you all that...I won't be needing you anymore. This group is dissolved, good luck, good night and have a good life, the lot of you. I'm through. I'm done."

The rest of the group cast guilty and shocked glances to each other, as Hawke drew a pouch of coins from his belt and threw it on the table. "This is whatever I might owe any of you, plus a good few months of this thing that goes by the name of ale around here. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's nothing of the kind. Consider it a parting gift."

" _Lethalin_ , don't do this..." Merrill had tears in her huge eyes. "Don't walk away from us, Hawke. We made a mistake. Please, forgive us. We're your friends, your family."

Hawke's gait faltered on the way to the door, but he didn't even turn back to look at any of them. "You all are nothing to me." he said. "My only family is locked in the Tower. And my friends...the friends I thought I had were figments of my imagination. They never existed."

"Hawke!" Varric cried out. "Come on, Hawke. Don't do this, my boy! You're breaking Bianca's heart."

"Bianca will be alright. You can live with a broken heart. Maker knows, I will," Hawke said as he went through the door.

Heavy, oppressive silence reigned among them all as soon as Hawke was gone. They all just sat there, looking shell-shocked, unable to believe that Hawke would go as far as to cast them all away. Remorse made them all lower their heads, made them avoid each other's eyes. Merrill was sniffling quietly in the corner, muttering in broken Dalish, while Aveline's hands clenched so tightly around her mug that the heavy duty metal was beginning to bend and twist out of shape. Sebastian was biting his lip, and Anders had tears in his eyes, and rubbing a hand across his forehead; blue flashes were going off in his amber eyes, as Justice struggled to come out and express his displeasure at the unfair way they had treated Hawke.

Isabela was the one to speak first, plopping down on the chair and dragging a mug of ale towards her. "He'll forgive us. Hawke is a tender-hearted teddy bear. He won't stay mad forever, you'll see."

"He isn't mad," Sebastian spoke up, his voice soft. "He's heartbroken. He feels betrayed. And...Maker. Fenris accused the man of raping him. If I loved someone, and they...Do you realise what that did to him? He's punishing himself."

"But why?" Merrill's voice was confused. "He knows it wasn't his fault, he knew all along he hadn't made any deal, and that he didn't...Why is he...?"

"That has nothing to do with it. He still thinks Fenris was coerced, forced to come back by that demon. He feels responsible, for some twisted reason... he's angry, and hurt, and blames everything on himself. He trusted Fenris with everything, including his life but after the amulet, after that demon, Fenris..." he shook his head. "Fenris nearly took his heart for real but settled for beating him instead."

"When did that happen?" Isabela tensed up.

"A couple of days ago," Sebastian rubbed his forehead. "I found him in the street. And Hawke is still considering himself guilty of rape; in his head, Fenris was forced to his side. And he's angry- angry he didn't realise, angry he didn't question the reasons why Fenris went back, angry at the world in general. Rejected love- it's not something you deal easily with."

More heavy silence descended, as they all lowered their heads even more, silently admitting to the truth of the ex-prince's words.

"Only the elf can fix this," Varric murmured in the end. "I say we all go pay Broody a visit and beat some sense into that thick skull of his."

They all clambered after him, and made their way to Hightown. But once they reached the door...they all paused, looking at Varric for directions. The dwarf sighed, took a look at the door, then at his companions, then at the door again.

"I think...maybe me and Choir Boy," he said. "I don't think Broody will appreciate the group intrusion."

Sebastian stepped forward. "I'll go alone," he said. "You're more probable to crack a joke just as inappropriate as Hawke's."

Varric wanted to at least make a show of protest, but in the end, feeling too relieved to even complain, he stepped aside and motioned to Sebastian to proceed.

"Knock yourself out, Choir Boy," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

When Sebastian walked into Fenris' room, he was half-expecting to find the elf deep in his cups- Fenris usual response to anything upsetting was to get shitfaced drunk, as Varric would have put it. Instead, he saw Fenris walking agitatedly in front of the fireplace, stopping from time to time to kick a broken crate to pieces, or hurl any nearby object into the wall.

"Don't tell me you have been doing this for all these past days," he said, looking around the room, at the debris of broken furniture and smashed glass.

Fenris barely paused to look at him. "No. I got drunk first."

Sebastian took off his bow and quiver and settled it down beside his feet before looking for a crate that looked unbroken enough to support his weight. He then sat down and patiently waited for Fenris to stop his pacing, and the ranting, furious cursing in Tevene.

"I took the amulet to Justice," he started after a while, as Fenris' anger showed no sign of abating.

Fenris just cast him a scowling look, then ignored him.

"He said that the demon in the amulet affected you and Hawke both, but that Hawke had no way of knowing the demon was locked in that amulet."

That gave the elf some pause; his step slowed for an instance, before he turned to Sebastian with a furious look; his green eyes were blazing, and his fists were clenched so tightly, that Sebastian wondered if he would break his own fingers soon.

"And that somehow makes everything alright?" he spat, then turned around and punched the wall. "I should have killed him!"

Sebastian sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. "Ah, yes...The fist through the chest. I saw your handiwork."

Fenris snarled. "He was lucky to walk out of here alive."

Another weary sigh by the tall archer. "Maker's breath, Fenris. This is Hawke you're talking about." He shot the elf a chastising look. "You cracked two of his ribs, by the way."

"He deserved more."

"Funny, that's exactly what he said too."

Fenris' anger was tempered by a slight expression of surprise at that, before it hardened again. "What he did...was inexcusable."

"He didn't know." Sebastian huffed. "He had no idea. He didn't make you...do anything. Justice said that for the demon to be able to influence you, you must have felt something for Hawke. If you didn't want him, it wouldn't have been able to make you go to him."

Fenris scoffed. "You don't know the force this kind of dark magic can exert on someone."

"Still, Hawke had no idea. He's hurting just as badly as you, Fenris. Maybe even more."

"I was the victim here!" Fenris roared, his markings suddenly alighting.

"Fenris," Sebastian gentled his voice. "Listen to me, I beg of you; if you didn't want to go back, the demon would not have been able to make you do it."

"But still, I was coerced."

"Not. By. Hawke!" The tall archer enunciated, trying to make Fenris grasp that very important part of information. " _He_ had no idea. Maker damn it all, Fenris, that thing was like a parasite, eating away at his soul."

"It said..."

"Aye, now, and there's the rub," Sebastian waved a hand around. "You are more willing to trust in a demon's words than in Hawke's. We all were."

"Hawke said something like that as well," Fenris stubbornly said. "I asked him about that amulet and he said it was his lucky charm, that 'it had brought a handsome elf to his bed'."

Sebastian shrugged. "And we all connected that with something sinister after the demon appeared- but think about it, Fenris. This is Hawke. He jokes about everything. One word from the demon and we all suddenly believe that a light-hearted statement suddenly becomes an admission of guilt? In his mind your return was good luck brought about by a charm. You know as well as I that he would have taken the accursed thing off in a minute if he even suspected there was a demon inside."

"I find that hard to believe."

Sebastian pleaded to the elf with his eyes. "Fenris...we are talking about Hawke here...do you really believe that? That Hawke would have willingly let a demon manipulate you into coming back to him? You know how proud the man is. He would never have accepted a lover that only returned because he was forced to."

Fenris kicked the broken crate at his feet again, then he turned his back to the ex-prince and slammed his fist in the wall, enunciating every one of his words with a bang and a pulsing glowing of his markings.

"I. Was. Raped."

"Sure, Fenris. Keep thinking that. Keep thinking that Hawke made some deal with a demon to lure the poor little unsuspecting elf to his bed. At the same time...we're losing Hawke. I think...we've already lost him. He's going around causing himself harm, and hiring Andraste knows what cutthroats as his companions."

Fenris' muscles twitched for just a second at that but he stubbornly refused to turn back, or say anything. Sebastian was getting frustrated, starting to believe that he wouldn't be able to get through to him, that in his stubbornness Fenris would dismiss all he had to say.

"Think for a minute. Think back. Remember. The shock on Hawke's face when the demon was released? The lame attempt at humour? There was no guilt in his eyes, Fenris, only pain."

The elf cast him one look over his shoulder. "He believed he was acting out of love. Love, for Maker's sake! Making someone..."

"He didn't make you!" Sebastian shouted, his fists clenched in impotent fury. "Not even the demon would have been able to make you do anything, if you didn't want to, deep down! Didn't you hear anything I have been telling you?"

"And I'm supposed to believe Justice in this? That thing is a demon itself!"

"Justice wouldn't lie, not about this. The demon preyed on Hawke's emotions. It saw his desire, his love for you and used it to get the two of you together so it could feed itself. It was called Lust for a reason. Maker, Fenris, this thing was eating Hawke up from the inside- he would end up with his soul devoured and his body possessed, if that dwarf, Maker bless his soul, hadn't somehow sensed the demon."

Fenris fought against the alarm those few last words caused deep in the pit of his belly. He refused to let it influence him, shoved the images from his mind's eye away- images of Hawke dead, his soul destroyed, his body being animated by a demon. "It would have served him right," he stubbornly said, although some small part of him cringed at his own words. "It is not a question of want, or desire, of even an unspoken wish that might or might not have existed on my part to return to him; it is the matter of that choice being taken from me- and that is rape. I have been a slave, Sebastian, I do not wish to be one again. Not even to love."

Sebastian bowed his head. "I can understand that. But, Hawke..."

Fenris swore and then kicked another crated with viciousness, reducing it to splinters. " _Vasta vaas_! He must have known. He must have suspected something! He didn't even let me touch that thing; he said it looked fragile, and that he was afraid I might break it."

"So he would have risked his life, his very soul, just for... a quick roll in the hay with you?" Sebastian refrained from using cruder words. "You have quite a high idea of yourself, don't you?"

Fenris' markings alighted as he snarled at the hidden insult in the Prince's words, although the words had started causing some small slither of doubt to penetrate his mind. He hardened himself against it; he would not be swayed. Hawke had wronged him, wounded his pride and still new, still fragile sense of personal freedom. He could not forgive that. He wouldn't, even if he could.

"I shouldn't be saying this..." Sebastian played one of his last cards. "Hawke came to confess." He drew a deep breath, praying for forgiveness for breaking the sacred trust between a confessor and the faithful, and then looked the elf in the eyes. "He believed every word you said, Fenris. He thinks himself a rapist, a monster. And that you would never have gone back if the demon hadn't made you, that he was never more than a casual romp to you. So I need to ask you this, and you need to give me an honest answer. Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Have gone back. Would you?"

"We shall never know now, shall we? We will never know if I would have gone back myself."

"Yes. And the most tragic thing is...Hawke will never believe it now. If you even thought about you two getting back together again after this...forget about it."

"I have no desire to go back to him. Ever."

Sebastian's face fell and he gulped down a sudden wave of sadness. The forlorn tone in Hawke's voice as he was giving confession came back to make him blink, trying to hold back tears; his heart was breaking for his young friend. "Then...Hawke was right. You never cared for him, and you never will."

"I never said that!"

"You should have heard him..." Sebastian went on as if Fenris hadn't even spoken. "He sounded so lost...so alone. And an hour ago he dismissed us all, cutting us out of his life." The tall ex-prince rose to his feet, sighing heavily. "There are worse things than having your body violated, and that is your soul being sullied, Fenris. Think about it."

Fenris gave him a surprised look. "What do you mean?"

"Hawke had his deepest, most cherished dreams taken over by a demon. That malicious thing got into his heart and his soul, saw what he wanted and gave you the push you needed to go back...and Hawke though you had come back out of love. He then got accused of being a rapist by the very same man he loved, while realising at the same time that his feelings were never returned. And to add insult to injury, all his friends also turned on him. He's hurt. Suffering. Don't you care?"

Something softened in Fenris' eyes for just an instance, but it was gone so fast –to be replaced with angry scowl- that Sebastian thought he had imagined it. "No," he said. "I don't."

Sebastian drew back as if he had been slapped. He gave Fenris one last, disapproving look. "I see it now. He loved the wrong man," he blandly told the elf. "The Maker must hate Hawke...poor thing. I don't know what he's ever done to deserve all this. To love a man like you, so self-absorbed, so caught up in your own self that you can't see the damage you're causing to a man that only wanted to love you...you're pathetic, Fenris, and...maybe...maybe Hawke is better off without you."

He sighed once more, then picked up his bow and quiver. "I came here to ask you to go talk to him, to at least...I don't know...tell him he's not a rapist? Tell him not to blame himself? Tell him you didn't mean it? I don't know." The tall prince shrugged, then sighed again. "I think, I will ask you to stay away from him, instead. Don't go near him. You've done enough damage as it is."

"You don't know how it feels like, knowing that your free will was taken from you!" Fenris spat through clenched teeth, the accusations making something in his soul hurt like it was being ripped apart. "You don't know what having no choice feels like."

"But it wasn't Hawke that did that to you, that's the whole point. He was innocent in this. Maybe he was even more a victim than you."

Fenris scoffed at that but Sebastian didn't let it faze him. "Just _think_ about it, Fenris. The man has lost everything that had been important to him; his home, his brother, his sister, then his mother. And what is his deepest dream? What is his most cherished wish? You, going back to him. You, loving him. You, in his life. You broke his heart three years ago, and still he waited for you. Be a man, for once, and admit to your own self what we all know: you wanted Hawke. You wanted to go back. You would have gone back eventually, and that demon only expedited things."

Fenris crossed his arms on his chest. "You don't know that. If that demon hadn't influenced me, I might never have gone back."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "There is something else behind your stubbornness..." he said, then pressed on relentlessly when the elf recoiled, and looked wildly around, as if trying to hide. "What is really bothering you, Fenris?"

Fenris sighed, then turned his back on the ex-prince. When he next spoke, his voice was calm, and had a sad quality to it, which only made Sebastian more frustrated. "It all felt so real..." Fenris said. "I...I can't establish which feelings were mine and which were inspired by the demon. I don't trust in what I feel. I felt a connection with Hawke these three days...that was completely beyond and above my wildest dreams."

He turned to look at Sebastian over his shoulder and the tall archer drew a sharp breath in at the look of anguish in the elf's eyes.

"I fear this..connection, what I felt, was a lie and ...that..."

"Frightens you?" Sebastian asked, his voice soft now.

Fenris only nodded, his eyes hidden behind the white bangs that shaded his face.

"And you'd rather have Hawke suffer, you'd rather blame everything on him, you'd rather have the man that loves you consider himself a monster, than go and find out? I never pegged you for a coward, Fenris."

The lost look in Fenris' eyes was replaced by anger once more. "Get out Sebastian," he said, resolve written all over his face. "Leave me be."

Sebastian looked him over again, a tight-lipped look of disappointment on his face. "Hawke went to the Rose, and gave himself to man that is little removed from a vicious torturer. He was bruised and battered when we saw him. He cut his hair." He smiled a little sad grin at the gasp that escaped Fenris at that. "He's punishing himself for something that wasn't his fault. And you don't even care."

He turned and left, shaking his head all the way, fighting the sadness that was making his eyes moist.

The last words he tossed Fenris over his shoulder as he was crossing the threshold rang in the elf's ears for hours after the Prince had left.

_Hawke is... different. He stopped smiling, Fenris._

The words echoed in Fenris mind over and over again, giving him a headache, making his insides clench. Irrationally, he thought of that dimpled smile he lov...and then he realised what he was thinking and froze, shock making him rigid.

_He loved? LOVED?_

No. He didn't love Hawke, did he? What he had felt had been desire, admiration perhaps, and a rare, bone-deep sense of acceptance, so rare for him that it was now clouding his judgement- it wasn't love, it couldn't have been love. Fenris didn't know how to love. He wouldn't know the emotion if it bit him in the posterior. He had seen it in Hawke's eyes, felt it in his caresses, heard it in his voice whenever he had spoke his name; but feel it himself? No Fenris was not capable of love. He had just allowed himself to soak in the love and desire in Hawke's eyes, fully believing it to be true; he had let it soothe his hate-embittered soul, let it mend some of the gaping holes in his psyche that years of abuse had left. It had obviously not been true, though, so now Fenris was glad he was incapable of feeling anything deeper than want; he was grateful he didn't love Hawke.

Suddenly, the image of Hawke's dimpled smile, his eyes shining with that inner light, his whole face alight with joy came into his mind; the rogue looking at him with warm, melting eyes, his smiling lips whispering 'I love you'.

Had it been a lie? Could Hawke only have wanted him in his bed? What reason did he have to lie, he could have told Fenris that he wanted him, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't as if Fenris needed the whispered love words to stay; he would have stayed even without, or to be more precise, it would have been infinitely less complicated for him if the confession hadn't been offered. It had made him awkward and tense at first, not fully sure how to respond; one corner of his soul craved it with a need that was terrifying, and the other mistrusted and feared it with equal fervour.

But Hawke had no reason to lie about loving him. Hawke didn't do lies. Not for something as important as that.

_So. Hawke didn't lie. He probably did love me._

He dismissed the thought with a muted curse and took out his frustration on the only surviving crate, the one Sebastian had been sitting on.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to sort out the jumble of emotions in his heart and thoughts in his brain. He turned his exchange with Sebastian over and over on his mind, turned it this way and that way, examined what the Priest had said under every different light he could think of. All he got in the end was a headache. He still refused to believe that Hawke had been entirely innocent in all this; the rogue must have known something.. He needed to believe that, because if it weren't true, then...he cringed at that. No, it had to be true. He had been coerced, driven to return to Hawke's side by that demon, and Hawke must have known. He had every right to be angry at Hawke, his indignation was justified- what the rogue had done was unforgivable.

Even if he had been driven by love, what he had done was inexcusable.

Then...Fenris rubbed a hand over his forehead, and the mental image of Hawke standing in front of him- anguish in his eyes, his hand stretched out-came back to make him doubt. Hawke's silvery eyes, luminous with tears, shattered by pain. Hawke's almost trembling lip, the plea- that desperate, heart-wrenching plea- on his face. The way his voice quivered. The fear and the anguish in his eyes.

_Please, Fenris... Please...Believe me...I'm begging you. I made no deal, I didn't know..._

Could it really all have been some stupid cosmic misunderstanding? Could the amulet have ended up around Hawke's neck without him knowing, and worked its magic without his realising? Fenris stopped all movement, his body going still as a statue, as he replayed the whole affair in his head. That night, before he had gone to Hawke- when he had accidentally touched him. Was it then that the demon started working on him? But...he had looked at Hawke and felt desire- felt this inexplicable draw to him- long before that. It hadn't started there and then- it had gone on for much longer than that. Fenris could clearly recall the three years of gazing at Hawke and aching because he'd thought the human rogue had completely put the one night they had spent together out of his mind; he remembered being equally peeved and relieved at the casual, carefree way the rogue had treated him with, because one side of him wanted Hawke to show losing him hurt, and the other part of him dreaded it.

Had Sebastian been right? Had he always wanted to return to Hawke? Had the demon only given him the push necessary to make that decision?

Bile rose to his throat at that thought again. Just the notion that everything he had done with and to Hawke those days had been the result of a demon's influence was enough to make him green with nausea. He had witnessed firsthand just what kind of power a demon could have an a man, what unimaginable atrocities one could commit under their influence. He remembered those long, depraved parties back at the Imperium, when bored magisters conjured up demons and set them loose on their elven slaves for their sick and twisted amusement. Bile rose to his throat; being with Hawke had been pleasure beyond imagining, had been intimacy and warmth and belonging- but if a demon had inspired all that...it made him sick.

He pushed the feeling of horror and dread away, the resentment, the bitter accusations that once again wanted to climb to his mouth. He tried to keep his mind open- for once- and pushing his anger away he asked himself: what if Hawke really hadn't known?

Sebastian had sworn that Justice said it had been true. That Hawke hadn't known. That every time they had given in to their lust for each other, the demon had come one step closer to devouring Hawke's soul. _Could it be true?_ He stated pacing again, agitated and frustrated.

A broken mirror hung on the far wall and he looked at his face in the fractured glass, his face seeming as fragmented and torn as his emotions. If Hawke hadn't known...what Fenris had accused him of had been little removed from the cruellest, most malicious torture any magister had ever devised. If Hawke hadn't known...he had been a victim too, and Fenris' lust had nearly killed him.

 _Venhedis_ , Fenris himself had nearly killed Hawke. He brought his hand up to his face, the same hand he had buried in Hawke's chest and looked at his lyrium-lined fingers in revulsion. He'd had those same fingers wrapped around Hawke's fluttering heart, and for one horrible moment...he'd felt the uncontrollable urge to rip that heart out.

As Sebastian had said, if Hawke hadn't known, Fenris had treated a man that only ever wanted to love him in the cruellest way possible. He cringed at the thought, his face distorting even more on the broken mirror and realised that he had been clinging to the idea of Hawke's guilt all this time just because the fact was that...if Hawke had not lied, Fenris had wronged him in a way too deep, too cruel to ever be forgiven.

If Hawke hadn't known...it was he himself that was the monster, Fenris realised, and the feeling of dread and guilt that spread through him was like acid burning away at his insides.

Maker. He had to know for sure. _He had to_.

* * *

Varric had offered the only logical solution- as always. He had suggested that Fenris should consult Orsino, but the elf was reluctant to do it, fearing what he would hear and too suspicious of magic to put his faith in a mage, even one like Orsino for whom he felt some grudging respect. For Fenris, the graceful, aristocratic elf was all that a mage should be; he was accepting of his place in the Circle, followed the templars edicts to the best of his abilities and tried to protect and guide his mages. Still, he was a mage, and a stranger. Fenris was loathe to have to talk to someone he barely knew about such personal matters.

In the end, Sebastian had made the appointment and all but dragged Fenris to the First Enchanter's office.

The First Enchanter had greeted them politely, and with an expression of curiosity on his aristocratic face; Sebastian swore him to secrecy, then stepped outside to let Fenris speak to the elven mage.

The words had first refused to leave him, a feeling of awkwardness and shame filling the elven warrior at having to disclose information he considered too intimate; but Orsino's unblinking acceptance of what he had said made him slowly relax. Orsino was a mage, the last kind of person that Fenris would have trusted, but the situation was dire. Like all survivors, Fenris was nothing but practical. It was that practicality that had allowed him to survive, the ruthlessness with which he always did what was necessary, even if it was difficult, or shameful.

As the minutes passed, and Orsino listened attentively, words spilled out of Fenris' mouth more and more easily, with more urgency. The mage's eyes had widened a bit at the mention of the demon, and his posture had changed; he had leaned forward in his chair, now clinging to every word that Fenris said. And when the narration was over, he just rubbed a hand across his forehead with a weary sigh and got up to get a book.

Opening the old, tattered book to a dog-eared page, he sighed again before reading in his smooth, cultured voice.

The passage had chilled Fenris' heart.

 _T'was in the days of Ancient Tevinter that the mages perfected the act of binding demons to solid objects,_ the book said. _T'was meant as the perfect trap, a means of ridding themselves of dangerous, or powerful opponents. Under the pretext of friendship the object was given to the target, and it slowly consumed them, drawing on the one desire that lurked in their soul; it could be lust, or avarice, or a craving for power. Even love could be manipulated to bring forth the destruction of the bearer, although the purest the feeling that the demon tried to manipulate, the longer the process was_.

_The result, invariably, was the same: the host's soul was slowly devoured, and his body possessed by the demon. The demon had the power to manipulate those close to the bearer, drawing on emotions and desires that had already been present, and magnifying them to better affect its host. But they remained untouched, while the host was destroyed._

Fenris stopped hearing at about that point- instead, his mind was filled with the horrifying image of Hawke, with a demon standing behind his shoulder, its claws sinking into the flesh of his back, drawing at his emotions, hollowing him from the inside. In his mind's eye, he saw Hawke lose that brilliant light in his eyes, as his soul was devoured. He saw his pale flesh turn yellow and brittle, then turn into dust and blow in the wind. Horror washed over his soul at the pain in his eyes, at the expression of reproach in Hawke's eyes in that horrible vision in his head, like accusing Fenris of causing his death.

Visibly pale, he blinked the image away as he heard Orsino's voice question him. Orsino expressed the desire to see Hawke, to examine him in person, but Fenris had just shaken his head, still rattled.

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Are ye well, Fenris?" Sebastian's concerned voice asked, and Fenris realised that his frozen, stricken look had alarmed Orsino enough to summon the Priest from outside. Making an effort that took all his resolve, Fenris schooled his expression into his usual stoic mask, then nodded his thanks to the mage, and looked at the door, ignoring Sebastian.

Something had released the tension around his insides during these past moments and he realised with a jolt that part of his soul felt immensely relieved; Hawke had been innocent. Yet, the rest of his soul filled with guild and mortification; he had accused Hawke of rape, had called him a monster, had accused him of being even worse than Danarius.

Maker. What had he done? Why had he flung all those accusations without waiting to be certain first? He knew Hawke, he knew how tender hearted, how fair and just the man was, how incapable of such manipulation. How had he allowed himself to become blind to that fact in his rage?

Most importantly of all...how could he undo the damage he had done? Could the damage even be repaired?

"Let us be off," he softly said. "I have learned all I needed to learn."

Sebastian gave him a disappointed look, but said nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

Varric came to find him the next morning. He cast one look at the empty bottles on the table, at the broken mess in the room, took a sniff of the rancid, stale air and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Love what you've done to the place," he said dryly. "You realise of course, that throw pillows aren't exactly pillows you throw everywhere." He bent over to pick up a pillow from the floor, and the stuffing inside spilled to the floor, adding to the mess.

"State your business, Dwarf," Fenris watched him coldly, "then be off."

"My business. Right." Varric rubbed his forehead, as to alleviate a headache that was slowing forming. "My business is none of my business, but here goes...you must go apologise."

Fenris looked away. "Correct you are. It is none of your business."

Varric tossed the shredded pillow away, then looked around for something to sit on. When he didn't find anything, he just leaned against the wall, and observed Fenris silently.

"And now it is time for you to be off," Fenris growled, annoyed by that cold, observing look, feeling like a bug being studied.

"Sebastian told me what happened at Orsino's," Varric said, as if Fenris hadn't even spoken. "And you need to know a few things as well."

Fenris just raised an eyebrow, outwardly looking as stoic and collected as always, but inwardly cringing. From the look on Varric's face, what he was about to learn didn't bode well for his state of mind. He was already consumed by guilt and regret, he didn't need more.

"Right then," Varric took his indifferent posture at face value, and his mouth twisted in bitterness. "It's obvious you don't give a shit, so I'll give you the shot version: Hawke let us all go. You know about the business with the Rose. I'm sure Sebastian filled you in. What you don't know, is that I stopped by his mansion to ask after him, and Bodahn told me that he's tried to kill himself."

A little gasp escaped Fenris at that, and Varric tilted his head to the side, and gave him an even colder look. "Well," he said, "at least you care whether my boy lives or dies. I guess that's something."

He picked Bianca up and headed to the door, casting one last look at Fenris before he left. "Go apologise, Broody. Don't make Bianca take this into her own hands. It won't be pretty."

Fenris was left there reeling, long after the dwarf had left, his mind in shock.

Hawke had attempted to...no. It didn't add up. Hawke would never do that, he was too cheerful, too optimistic by nature to ever fall to that level of despair. There had to be a mistake. Hawke would never...

The rogue's face came into memory, his eyes warm, his dimpled smile blinding, telling him he loved him. Images of Hawke laughing, of his eyes sparkling with happiness. And then..his eyes that day, when he came to apologise to him, the look of fear and abject betrayal on his face as he looked down, to see the fist of the man he loved wrapped around his heart, squeezing. The way his whole body trembled, the way he had looked as he struggled to his feet, like a child that had its belief that everything was alright with the world and that everybody loved him shattered by a stinging blow to the cheek.

It was the most optimistic that fell the furthest when despair took them.

He sighed, and rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. Before he had time to change his mind, he stormed through the door, and made it to Hawke's mansion. Yes, Varric was right. And apology was in order. If for nothing else, then for the simple fact that he had shattered the trust Hawke had placed in him; if not for the fact that he had blamed him for things that had not been his fault, then only for the fact that he had been so unbelievably vicious, so cruel.

If for nothing else, then just for the fact that he had- for one brief moment- wanted to crush that tender heart under his fingers.

He knocked on the door, and a red-eyed, exhausted Bodahn opened with a disinterested, absent-minded expression that quickly turned to loathing.

"Messere Hawke is not accepting visitors," the dwarf said coldly, then attempted to slam the door on Fenris' face. The elf was too quick for him, though, and managed to slip through the door as it was closing, shooting Hawke's manservant a hostile look of his own.

"It is imperative that I see Hawke," he said, his tone outwardly polite, but his tense posture and scowling face indicating that he would not take no for an answer.

Bodahn shot a look upstairs, then his face tightened into a scowl. "I have direct instructions not to..."

"I understand," Fenris interrupted. "But I will see Hawke, your instructions be damned."

Faced with that steely determination, Bodahn backed down, after holding the elf in his disapproving gaze for a few seconds.

He gave a curt nod, and led Fenris to the staircase, then bowed his head. "Be my guest, then, Serah," he spat through clenched teeth. He gave Fenris one last disdainful look before he turned around to go about his business, and Fenris followed him with his eyes for a while, trying to marshal up the courage it would take to take the first step up those stairs.

In the end, though, Fenris was a lot of things, but despite everyone's recent opinion of him, he had never been a coward. Taking one last deep breath to calm himself, masking his unusual nervousness behind a stoic, unreadable expression, he took that first step, and the one after it. That climb up the stairs had never seemed so long; never before had a simple flight of stairs seemed so unending.

Hawke's faithful mabari, Hector, was sitting outside his door; Fenris wondered if he would have to fight his way past the huge dog as at the sight of him the mabari lowered its head and growled menacingly. Fenris eyed the beast carefully, knowing full well the damage it could do, and wondering if Hawke had ordered the dog not to let Fenris near him, or if the animal had somehow realised he had harmed his master in some way.

Just as he was wondering how he was going to overcome this new obstacle-the beast a few steps in front of him growling and showing its teeth- the door at the end of the hall opened and Hawke emerged in the hallway; he was only dressed in a towel, knotted around his slim hips, obviously having come from the seldom used bathing chamber.

Fenris froze on the spot, and took stock of the rogue; obviously thinner and with his hair cut boyishly short, uneven strands flying around his head as he brushed a towel against his hair, he looked like a shadow of the man he had been just one week ago. Fenris noticed the bruises and slashes marring his torso, and a tattoo darkening the whole left side of his chest- a series of interwoven swirls and whorls, that seen all together formed a huge, roaring dragon.

Fenris' eyes focused on a set of leather bands that were encircling the rogue's wrists; he could see the bandages underneath. The sight nearly brough him to his knees- it was true then. Hawke had attempted to take his own life. He averted his eyes, feeling that he would start whimpering any minute if he had to stare at his wrists for a another minute, but what his eyes landed on was even worse.

A massive purplish-green bruise was covering Hawke's heart.

Hawke paused midway in his step, as he realised Fenris was standing there in front of him. He looked at the elf for a few long minutes, then lowered the hand holding the towel.

"Hawke," the warrior said, shallowing heavily to make the knot that had formed in his throat go down, bowing his head to him; Hawke's face hardened even more and then he just went past Fenris, and into his room, his mabari stepping aside to let him pass. Once Fenris made a move to follow, the huge dog lowered its head again and growled, even louder this time. The door closed behind Hawke, dismissing Fenris in the worst possible way.

Ignoring the low, rumbling growl coming from the dog, its barred teeth, Fenris stood in front of the door, and knocked.

"Hawke," he called out. "I wish to speak to you."

The door was jerked open again, and the rogue was standing there, his face unreadable, his eyes hard, gleaming with anger. He nodded to his dog, and it trotted away, shooting Fenris a look that was the closest canine equivalent to a death stare.

"What more is there for us to say, Fenris?" Hawke scoffed. "You said all you had to say last time. I _finally_ got the message, loud and clear." He gestured at the bruise over his heart. "I don't think it can get any clearer than this."

Fenris drew in a deep breath. "We owe each other an apology, I believe."

The corner of Hawke's mouth went up the tiniest amount. "Whatever. If that's what you came here for, then alright, I apologise," he said. "Now please go."

He made a move to push the door shut again, but Fenris put his hand against it, preventing him. "Will you not even hear _my_ apology, Gabriel?"

Hawke's face twisted into an expression of anger, his gray eyes gleaming with temper. For a moment, watching his fists clench, his jaw tighten, Fenris thought the rogue would fly into a rage. He actually could see that fist raising to punch him in the face, and he was determined to take it like a man, because it would be the least he deserved. But Hawke's angry, scowling expression melted away, to be replaced by that cold, frozen mask again. "Don't call me that. It's Hawke. Better, yet, it's Champion." He looked away, his eyes dark with pain for just a second, so much pain that Fenris' heart bled at the sight of it. "Gabriel is dead," he said softly. "You lost the right to that name when you nearly crashed my heart- literally. You have done it figuratively too many times already."

"I owe you an apology, then, Champion," Fenris said, his own temper rising to match the rogue's. It felt like Hawke was deliberately snubbing him, making him call him by his title, as if he was trying to point out how far above him his station was. Coming from a man that had always accepted him for what he was, it was like being spat in the face- and it made the regret burning in Fenris' gut all the more pronounced. But he refused to focus on that, he refused to let it rule him; instead he used the anger to fight it, to make the small keening voice in his head shut up.

The two men who had been lovers just a week ago stood in front of the other, coldness in both their eyes, tension making them both stiff. Unspoken words and accusations, hurt, regret, swirled around them making the air thicken, the silence oppressive, like a heavy weight bearing down on them both. They stood there for the longest time, indomitable wills battling silently, neither of them willing to back down. Memories resurfaced for both of them; was it just a week ago that they had loved each other, laughed together, slept together, shared moments that –at that time- seemed to be of the kind that would last forever? Resentment now marred those perfect moments, those perfect memories, making them both ache at what had been lost.

So much promise, so much potential for love and togetherness, lost forever. The taste left behind was like ashes; it smelt like acrid, burning dreams.

"Apology accepted," Hawke finally murmured through clenched teeth, then turned his gaze away and gently, his head bowing in bitter disappointment, he closed the door again, blocking the elf from his life for good. "Now let me be, Fenris. As you so clearly pointed out, there is nothing else for us to say."

Fenris stood in front of the door for the longest time, his heart feeling numb and frozen; he was used to it, but after having truly felt alive for a few brief days, the pain was now worse, the feeling of loss more astringent.

His heart wept; he had lost Hawke. He had lost a man who had only ever wanted to love him- him, an opinionated, hate-embittered ex-slave, who knew nothing of gentle touches, making love in the sunlight, of laughing and joking with someone who looked at him with love and admiration. Hawke had taught him all that, had shared the vastness of that tender heart with him, and what had Fenris done? He had crushed that heart, and in turn taught the man how to hate, disillusioned him to see a world where no one was good enough to trust, no one was good enough to rely on.

Fenris bowed his head, grieving at the loss of that wide-eyed, cheerful young man, that threw his head to the sun and laughed with all his heart, whose eyes had sparkled with mirth, whose cheeks dimpled with every smile, especially those that weren't faked.

Hawke had been a sweetheart, a loving, trusting man, and he had destroyed that. He had been loved- for the first time in what he could remember of his life- and he had ruined it.

Forever.

He turned back and left, his head bowed low, loss making each of his steps heavy, weary, like those of an old man.

Hawke's mabari flew past him and scratched the door of Hawke's room, whining pitifully. Behind the closed door, Hawke took a deep breath, his shoulders shaking, one hand bitten between his teeth, as tears streamed down his face- he didn't let his worried dog in, because he was afraid that the moment he opened the door, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from calling Fenris back and this had to stop, this yearning, this want. _It had to stop_. He had to stop loving the man, because a lot of things had tried to kill him and failed, but this- Hawke knew it to the bottom of his heart- _this_ just might.

* * *

Varric knocked on his door the next day, and when Fenris managed to drag himself out in the street, wincing against the bright sunshine that only made his pounding headache worst, the dwarf just gave him a critical look then ushered him inside.

"Go get your sword Broody, we're burning daylight here."

"Where are we going?" Fenris splashed some water on his face, trying to make his bleary eyes unfog. He had spent most of the night drinking, until he had passed out on his desk, numbed by the alcohol. Today, though, with his head slowly unhazing, the pain came back, the regret and the guilt rose up to choke him.

"How did it go?" Varric asked casually, then shrugged as Fenris shot him a surprised, questioning look, then narrowed his eyes at him. "Hey, don't give me that look," Varric said. "I've been keeping an eye on both Hawke and you; it's in my nature, I'm just caring like that and shit."

Fenris scoffed, and Varric sat down on a crate to wait as he strapped on his sword, and picked up his belt, checking his potions and provisions.

"He kicked you out." Varric stated then sighed. "I expect that, to be honest. You're probably less welcome than an epidemic of herpes in a brothel right now."

"Yet you urged me to go," Fenris accused him, shooting him a cold look.

"It had to be done," Varric shrugged again. "You know, cauterising the wound to reduce the damage in the future. Otherwise it would just fester."

Fenris bowed his head, silently admitting to the truth in Varric's words. Yes, the scene yesterday had been unpleasant, but at least an apology had been uttered, even if he wasn't sure that forgiveness would ever follow it. Still, the first step was an apology, and awkward and tense as it had been, it'd also been necessary.

"Where are we going?" he asked the rogue again once his sword had been strapped on and he felt marginally better under its familiar weight.

"We're tailing Hawke and that group of cutthroats he has hired," Varric petted Bianca's stock before mounting her in her holster. "I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, and that's not much."

Fenris drew back. "Hawke doesn't want any of us around," he said, confused at the look of obstinate resolve on Varric's face.

"Tough." Varric shrugged again, a determined, stubborn light shining in his whisky-coloured eyes. "He'll just have to get used to it. He might not consider me a friend anymore, but I'm not letting my boy alone with that group of thugs; Hawke is ours- our friend, our leader, our companion- and we must defend what's ours."

"Was a sense of conscience served along with the Mystery Meat Stew at the Hanged Man yesterday?" Fenris attempted to hide the knot forming in his throat behind sarcasm.

"Must have been," Varric shrugged. "I think I got two helpings, and damn if it's not giving me indigestion. But there you have it."

He turned towards the door, shooting a look at Fenris over his shoulder. "Coming, Broody? The rest of the gang is waiting at the Hanged Man."

Fenris trotted behind him, not saying another word.

* * *

It seemed that Varric had been right not to trust the motley crew that Hawke had assembled. Fenris eyed them all suspiciously as he and the rest of the group followed them all around Kirkwall, careful to stay out of sight; they kept exchanging shifty looks at each other behind Hawke's back, and once or twice, Fenris even saw them laughing lewdly when he wasn't looking.

The sight of Hawke made something ache inside him, something scream in rage and pain. With his short hair, much thinner than he remembered, the rogue seemed to have lost something more than just his usual smile. His movements were graceful and effortless as ever, and his fighting just as lethal, just as skilful. But it seemed like the rogue had lost his spark, for lack of a better description, as if he had lost that boyish buoyancy he always gave off, the one that made you think that there was nothing on this world that Hawke didn't do with enjoyment and gusto.

He looked brittle, tense, hardly speaking to the hirelings that trailed behind him. His bright smile not once graced his face, and those gray eyes looked dull and cold above dark circles that spoke of how little sleep he got every night – and anyone could see that whatever sleep he _did_ get was far from restful.

He hurt deep inside him, seeing Hawke like this; but what made him want to howl in pain was the realisation that it was him that had caused it. He cringed now to remember what he had told the rogue, what he had accused him of. It felt like something was eating away at his insides every time Hawke turned his head and those thee jagged silvery scars on his cheek caught the sun. Fenris could still remember the rage that had darkened his sight at that moment, the hate that had driven his hand as he'd slapped Hawke across the face. It was poisoning his soul now, that remembered hate, the way Hawke's eyes had darkened with pain at the sight of it.

Sebastian's words that day came back to haunt him, again and again.

_To love a man like you, so self-absorbed, so caught up in your own self that you can't see the damage you're causing to a man that only wanted to love you...you're pathetic, Fenris._

But he was seeing the damage he had caused now, it was right there, in stark relief against Hawke's face, in his cold eyes, in his tense, rigid posture. Fenris could do nothing but see it, and the sight hurt like nails being driven through his flesh.

Lust had made him go back, but she wouldn't have been able to affect him if he himself hadn't wanted Hawke- and finally, _finally_ , Fenris admitted to himself that he had wanted a second chance. It was all that he had wanted since the very same night he had first walked out of Hawke's room, three years ago. Hiding his head in the sand didn't serve any purpose than preserve his pride, than help him hide behind that self-erected wall of detachment and bitterness that he used to defend his battered heart from the rest of the world. Hawke had managed to bulldoze his way through it, with nothing more than the force of his dimpled smile, of his caring, of the respect and want in his eyes. But Fenris had been unable to trust in it, had been unable to decipher the messages his heart was sending him- he failed to see that Hawke was as necessary to him as the air he breathed. He only realised it just then, when it was too late, when he had already lost the man, when he had already pushed him violently away, wounding that kind, huge heart of his in the most irreparable of ways.

He lowered his head now, feeling his eyes sting at the sight of Hawke walking with those long-legged, determined strides of his- but there was something missing, and it was so obvious, even to the strangers that followed him, that they exchanged looks of secret communication between them. Like the rabid wolves that they were, they could sense weakness. Hawke was just as lethal a fighter as he had ever been, just as capable, just as effective.

What he lacked, was the will to go on.

Fenris kept his head down, to avoid seeing Hawke like this, to avoid the sharp sting of pain and guilt from twisting his insides. But there was no escaping it, because the rest of his companions made comments, not malicious ones, not really intending to rub his mistake in his face, but doing it nevertheless.

Merrill's naive, innocent comments were by far the worst.

"Look," she said. "Isabela, look! Is that Fenris' red band? The one he was wearing around his wrist?"

Fenris raised alarmed eyes to Hawke, standing in the distance, dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, looking down. There was a scrap of red fabric in his hand, and he raised his head to the wind, as it whipped around his short hair before letting the band go. It fluttered in the air a little, before it disappeared down the cliff, and Hawke just stood there looking at it. Fenris rubbed his right wrist, where the red band he had been wearing for three years usually rested; he had forgotten it at Hawke's house that day. During the first few days, when his anger and resentment had blinded him, he had felt glad that he'd left it behind. Now, though, he watched the little glimpse of red fluttering in the wind with tears climbing to his eyes.

It was over, over forever, and this was a fitting metaphor.

"The People do that," Merrill muttered. "When someone dies, they throw one of his clothes to the wind. Or some of their hair."

Fenris wanted to shout at her, to tell her to shut up, but he couldn't because she saw his face and spent the rest of the hour apologizing for her thoughtless words, until Isabela told her, kindly but firmly, to stop, because she was making it worse.

Others weren't so polite with their comments, like Anders and, surprisingly, Sebastian.

When Hawke had to fight a small group of Tal'Vasoth almost singlehandedly, because his new group were completely useless in a real fight, Anders winced at a javelin that hit Hawke's bicep, leaving a sizable gash behind. Sebastian had to stop the blond healer from rushing to Hawke's side with a forceful grasp on his shoulder, and Fenris clenched his teeth to stop himself.

"This is your fault!" Anders hissed to him as he was going back, hiding behind the rocks, while Hawke tried to stem the blood flow with a bandage in the distance. "If something happens to him, I swear to every god there ever existed I will see you burn!"

Fenris shot the mage an unfriendly stare, then he looked away.

"I will hold you to your word, abomination," he just said, surprising the mage.

"Idiot," Sebastian muttered as he was going by. "You couldn't even handle a semblance of a decent apology, could you?"

"That I am," Fenris admitted. "But I am not the only one. And I did apologise. It was not accepted."

"Leave Fenris alone," Merrill's voice piped in. "Can't you see he's suffering?"

Fenris fixed her with a death glare and she recoiled and started blubbering. "Well...not suffering. I'm sorry Fenris, what was I thinking? You don't like it when people are talking about your feelings...which...is...ehem...exactly what I'm doing now, and I'll just shut up before I make it worse..."

The third day that they all spent trailing after Hawke, Varric suspicions suddenly came true. Hawke and his new group were dividing the spoils after taking out a raider group, when suddenly one of the men stepped forward, and approached Hawke with his daggers drawn, looking from side to side to his comrades that soon followed him.

"We're tired of you taking the lion's share!" they heard the man shout. "You divide the money fairly, or me and the boys will do it ourselves."

Hawke drew his daggers, almost in a bored, disinterested way. "Since I do most of the work," they heard him say, "I get most of the spoils. Deal with it."

The group all rushed him with shouts and weapons flailing- they would all have been totally useless against Hawke if his arm wasn't wounded, if he wasn't already tired, if he even cared. But he didn't and soon enough they had him kneeling on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, a blade on his throat.

The man that was now leading the rest snickered as he landed a withering punch on Hawke's face, and Fenris' markings flashed, while Sebastian notched an arrow. Merrill and Anders both prepared a spell ,and Aveline and Isabela were ready to rush in, each in their own unique way: Isabela using stealth and a sneak attack, and Aveline charging like a battering ram.

"Wait." Varric's voice stopped them. "If we go rushing in now, we'll get nothing done."

Weapons lowered as they all shot the dwarf incredulous looks.

"Hawke must be in serious danger before we save him; he needs to see that we're the only ones he can rely on. We go in at the last moment."

It killed Fenris to wait. It made his blood run alternatively hot and cold in his veins with rage and fear. It made his eyes blur with fury as he just stood there, watching as that group of cowards shoved and rough-handled Hawke, some of them hitting or kicking him, others spitting on him. But when the leader pulled his head up by his hair and started unlacing his pants, making some comment about rumours that the Champion liked to take it up the ass like a bitch, he had enough, and so did everyone else.

It took them all nothing but seconds to deal with the group, sparing no one, and especially not their leader, who fell under Fenris' sword, his eyes still open in shock as his head rolled away.

Merrill rushed to Hawke's side, along with Anders, a knife in her hands which she used to cut away his bindings. She then tried to help him to his feet, while Anders' hands started glowing blue with a healing spell but Hawke just pushed their hands away as he rose to his feet and rubbed his wrists, his eyes still downcast.

"Well," he finally said. "I'm glad you didn't wait until they raped me..." He cast a small look to Fenris who was just standing there, and winced. "Not very vindictive, after all, are you?"

Fenris recoiled as if he had been struck. "Hawke. I would never willingly allow any injury to come to you . I do not wish to see you hurt."

Their eyes made contact for the first time after days, and Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to keep in the gasp that nearly escaped him at the look in the rogue's eyes. _Liar, liar, liar_ , those eyes accused. Such pain in those luminous gray eyes, such disappointment. So much loneliness.

But then Hawke turned away, his lips tightening, and he bent to pick up his daggers; Varric's expression caught his eye and he sighed wearily.

"Don't look so smug, Varric," the rogue said, frowning. "It's not becoming."

"I hate to tell you I told you so, Hawke," Varric shrugged, "but I told you so. Repeatedly."

Fenris attention snapped to that. When had the dwarf seen Hawke?

Anders approached Hawke again, his hands already enveloped in a soothing blue glow. "You have a small nick on your throat," he said. "Let me take care of it."

Hawke pulled back. "No," he just said. "There's no need..."

But Anders' hand was already ghosting over the wound, and then the blond healer gasped, and his eyes shot wide, only to be filled with compassion a moment later. "Oh, Hawke..." he just said.

"Let it be, Anders," Hawke's lips tightened even more. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Anders run his hand over Hawke's body, inches from his leather clad flesh. "How can you say that? Hawke!"

"Shut up, Anders."

Everyone's attention- and Fenris' more than the rest- was fixed on the two men, as Hawke started walking away, and Anders threw his arms in the air, frustrated. "Let me heal you!" he called after Hawke. "Maker's breath, you'll get infected, and I'll just let you rot! Hawke! He's not worth it, Hawke!"

Fenris stepped in front of Anders as soon as Hawke had gotten out of hearing distance.

"Speak," he just growled.

Anders looked around him, to find that the rest of the companions had also closed in on him, all of them with hard, unrelenting expressions, and with worry in their eyes.

"You!" Anders' eyes were filled with tears as he turned on Fenris, sputtering like a wet cat. "This is all your fault, you damned mongrel of a vicious dog!"

Fenris took one step forward, his face hardening into a threatening scowl. The two men stood off, tension between them, Anders refusing to back down under the menacing look in Fenris' eyes, and the elf refusing to let the question drop.

"Anders..." Varric sighed like he was talking to a petulant child.

Anders turned to Varric with an enraged expression. "He's hurting himself, alright? Are you happy? He's covered in knife wounds and slashes, his arms, his legs, his body. Like it's not enough what that monster at the Rose did to him, he's..." He pointed an accusatory finger at Fenris. "And it's all his fault!" he drew in two deep breaths, then covered his eyes and swore luridly. "He's cutting himself. Maker's breath. As if it wasn't enough that he tried to..."

Fenris drew back, visibly shaken. Aveline moved in, stepping right between the two men, hoping to prevent the anguish she briefly saw in Fenris' eyes from escalating into a fight; it was usual for the Tevinter elf to lash out with anger when he was upset, and judging from his suddenly pale face, this had shaken him badly.

Merrill was once again defending Fenris, the Maker knew why, shouting at Anders to stop being so cruel, and Isabela was frowning, looking from one to the other as if she couldn't decide whose ass was more worthy of a good whooping. Varric was rubbing a weary hand across his forehead, and all the while, Hawke was walking away from them, once again.

Sebastian spoke up, and there was such authority, such command in his booming voice, that everybody stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

"ENOUGH!" the prince shouted. When he had everybody's attention he raised a hand and pointed to Hawke. "That is enough! I care not whose fault it was, or what kind of apologies we all- and I repeat, WE ALL- have to make. If anyone ever talks about this again, I will personally tan his hide, and I WILL NOT BE GENTLE. Hawke is who we should be concerned about, not making accusations."

"Amen and halleluiah," Varric muttered.

They all turned around, to see Hawke even further off, and as if by some hidden agreement they all raced up to him, walking behind him in silence.

The rogue's step faltered once he realised they were walking behind him, then stopped. They all stopped along with him. He didn't turn back, just lowered his head and snuck a glimpse behind his shoulder, then started walking again; like automatons, they all started following him, falling easily into their usual spots: Fenris directly behind him, Varric to his left, Anders to his right, while Sebastian and the girls manned the rear.

When Hawke stopped, they stopped. When Hawke moved, they moved. When he picked up the pace, they trotted behind him, without even grumbling about the rapid pace. He stood stock still at some point, and then raised his leg, then looked back to see them all standing on one leg too.

"I'll start hopping, I swear it to the Maker," he growled. "Stop following me!"

"You can do cartwheels for all I care, Hawke," Varric said, "although I'd prefer you didn't. Aveline here would look ridiculous, and I'm not sure Anders has anything on under his robes."

"I would not," Aveline quietly protested.

"I do too," Anders added.

Hawke muttered a curse before starting to walk again. Not even speaking, not even indulging in the banter they usually exchanged, they walked behind him in complete silence, until the rogue could not take it anymore.

Just before they entered the city, he stopped, then turned his head over his shoulder.

"If you all fools are so determined to follow me," he said, "you might as well do. Seven bells, tomorrow morning, the Hanged Man."

"You won't regret this, Hawke," Varric said softly.

The rogue shot him another look, a small self- deprecating grin curling his lip for just a second. "I already do," he said, then his eyes smoothed over Fenris to look at every other member of his group except the elf.

"Hawke," Fenris stepped forward. "Might we speak?"

Hawke drew a deep breath before looking at the elven warrior, as if the sight was something he had to endure. "All we had to say has already been spoken, Fenris."

"That is not entirely true," Fenris took another step closer, to which Hawke immediately tensed up, drawing up to his full height and looking down to the elf with an unreadable expression. Fenris felt his cheeks heat up a bit, but he ruthlessly pushed down the awkwardness he felt at the thought of speaking in front of the captivated audience of his companions.

"I owe you a public apology as well, Hawke," he said then gestured to the surprised group that was hanging to his every word. "I offended you in front of all your companions; it is only fitting I should beg your forgiveness before them as well."

"Offended me?" Hawke laughed, a bitter, cold sound, nothing like the warm, heartfelt, joyous laugh that once made everyone around him smile. "Yeah. You could say that."

"I sincerely apologise, Hawke..." Fenris voice faltered. "I said some things...I should never have said. Some things that were not true." He then raised his head, and his green eyes were suddenly left unguarded, open, his emotions –guilt, pain- clearly visible. His voice fell to a hoarse, warm caress, like silk on broken gravel. "Forgive me."

Hawke looked away, shaken by the sincerity and the raw, heartfelt emotion in the eyes and voice of a man that was usually so guarded. He looked deep into his heart, and realised that there was no way he could hold a grudge, there was no way his heart- damn it for being so soft- could defend itself against those soft, luminous puppy eyes that Fenris was giving him. But he also found that his heart was too broken, too disappointed to trust the elf again, to risk being vulnerable. He found a wall that was thick and tall encasing his heart- a wall he didn't know if he could or would ever want to break down. It was safe behind that wall; lonely but safe. No one could hurt you. No one could take your heart and stomp on it.

He looked at Fenris again, his eyes sad. "I forgive you. I have already forgiven you," he said softly, " but I can't forget. I'm sorry. I begged you to..." he shook his head, pushing the memories of that horrible, pain-riddled morning away. "It doesn't matter. You are forgiven, and that' that. I hope you have forgiven me as well; I never meant to...force you, or to..."

Someone coughed into his hand, and Hawke raised his eyes to look at the rest of his companions, standing there on the side.

"What?" he hissed.

One by one, they all stepped forward and apologised, making him nearly want to howl with sorrow and disappointment. He didn't need regrets. He didn't need apologies. He wanted the lost part of his soul back, the one that trusted and loved these people like family, that would not have hesitated to die for them; all he could see now was people that wanted something of him and would turn on him at the first chance. He wanted his faith in love and friendship back; he wanted to be able to look at the world as if there was something good in it, something worth taking all the crap for.

Isabela approached him last, and without even thinking about it, she slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a tight, fierce hug. "And if I ever hear about you hurting yourself, or letting someone else do it, I will cut your balls off with a nail file," she said then turned away, before he could catch sight of the tears glistening in her eyes.

"Blooming idiot," she mumbled, and Sebastian patted her back, smiling at her; he hadn't missed the tears.

"So!" Varric clapped his hands. "That's settled then. Apologies all around, and sniffling and general mushiness- don't think I didn't see that, Rivaini- but enough is fucking _enough_. I'm getting nauseous. Now. Drinks at the Hanged Man? I'll even put all your sorry asses on my tap."

The suggestion was greeted with cheers and enthusiasm, all of them eager to erase the awkwardness of the previous scene, except Hawke.

"You all go along," he just said. "Maybe...some other day."

Varric shook his head as he left. _Well...healing takes time_ , he told himself, and then followed the others.


	11. Chapter 11

Time. Healing took time, but Varric had never thought it would take that long. Weeks passed before Hawke even relaxed marginally around them all, before the words he exchanged with them were anything more than necessary instructions and explanations. More weeks before he actually allowed any of them to even touch him. More, spanning months now, before he appeared at the Hanged Man, interrupting a game of cards. Varric had just patted the seat next to him, and the rogue had looked from him to it, then back again.

"I can't," he'd just said, and left as quietly as he had arrived.

Months. The Amell mansion went up on sale one day and Varric bought it and secretly reverted the title back to Hawke who had now bought a modest little mansion at the outskirts of the Hightown district, hidden behind the oppressive bulk of the Chantry. Varric had been there the day he moved house; he had watched, unseen, how Hawke had walked out of his mother's ancestral house only carrying a small beaten chest with him. He took none of the expensive, ornate furniture from the house with him, preferring instead to buy everything from start. And just like that, Hawke had practically renounced the Amell name.

He made arrangements to have his dwarven merchants move to Orlais, and attended Orana's wedding with a small smile on his face. He then gave her and her new husband the coveted positions of housekeeper and gamekeeper of his vast estate outside Kirkwall. And just like that, the Campion of Kirkwall was now living alone, with only his dog for company.

Months. Weeks. Days on end before he smiled for the first time, a real smile, one that quirked both corners of his mouth, not those sad, tiny smirks of his. It had been in the Lowtown Market, and a little wooden ball had rolled towards the Champion's foot. He'd bent down to retrieve it, just at the same time with a toddler that had come running to get it; a small curly haired little boy, with wide gray eyes, and dimpled cheeks. The kid had looked up to the tall stranger with awed, fear-filled eyes, and Hawke had smiled that winsome smile of his, and cooed to the child, giving him his ball back.

Varric would have been tempted to cry if he was a more sentimental kind of man.

Months. Seasons. A whole five months- nearly half a year- before he was tentatively, hesitantly cracking jokes, his wry sense of humour returning, the sparkle in his eyes alighting again. Five months, three weeks and about two days- not that Varric had been counting, or anything- before he laughed again.

And that time, Varric did cry, although the day had been windy and dusty, and it _could_ have been dust in his eye, as he later claimed.

And all that time...Fenris had been the man's shadow. He had stayed in the back, silently following him. When Hawke turned to him, his face was his usual stoic mask, his usual brooding expression back in place. But Varric had eyes, and he could use them- and use them well. He could see how the elf looked at Hawke during moments when he thought no one was looking- the sorrow and regret in those green eyes of his had made even his cynical dwarven heart ache. He could see how the elf's face had changed, the shudder that had raced though him, when Hawke had first smiled again. He could tell the warrior had been moved down to his soles when Hawke's rich, beautiful laughter echoed again.

Varric watched on, as the months passed, and slowly started hoping for his two favourite people again. He had been afraid Fenris would give up at first, would stop trying after he was met with Hawke's unmovable rejection- hell, he had even feared the elf would one night pack his meagre belongings and fade into the darkness. But no- Fenris stayed on, and went out of his way to undo the harm he had done. He went out of his way to show Hawke how truly sorry he was; he never contradicted him, even when he thought his decision to help this or that mage was wrong. He got slashed and nicked and wounded more times than could be believable for a warrior of his class, because anything that wanted to hurt Hawke had to come through him first, had to step over his dead body to do so.

He had been there every morning when Hawke had left his house, not saying anything, just silently following him to his destination. He was there to walk him back to his house, even though the rogue grumbled that he didn't need a nanny. Every time, the elf stood at the side, hoping beyond hope that this would be the night Hawke would invite him in- and every night, Hawke just said good night, then went into his empty home, only the barking of his mabari there to greet him, closing the door gently-but firmly- in Fenris' face.

Varric had made it a habit to trail them both, or have people trailing them and then reporting to him. He excused himself by saying that all this angst was great material for his books, but in truth...the dwarf cared for them both, wanted to see them both happy. Like everyone else- Fenris most of all- he wanted the old Hawke back, the one that laughed like a little boy, the one whose smile was bright enough to shame the sun.

So he was there most nights to see Fenris not return to his decrepit mansion. Most nights, the elf would scale the walls of the house opposite Hawke's and settle on the rooftop, across from Hawke's bedroom window. It was too far away for Varric to get a clear view, but he could swear the elf spent most of his nights just gazing at Hawke as he slept –when he slept. Varric had seen him sitting there in the middle of pouring rain once, and he had briefly asked himself if all the water on the elf's face was from the storm.

Fenris never wavered, never protested, never asked or demanded anything of Hawke than to be allowed in his presence. He gave his opinion when asked, spoke to Hawke with respect whenever addressed and did his best to be there whenever the rogue needed him. He defended him with a fierceness that even Hawke's mabari didn't show. He had apologised more times that Varric could remember and didn't let Hawke's cold behaviour affect him.

And every time Hawke addressed him, he would whisper "I am yours, Hawke," with that sinful, chocolate on gravel voice of his.

It mattered little- or even nothing at all-to the elf that Hawke no longer wanted him; he was Hawke's and that was that.

Five months, three weeks and a few days. Time. Healing took time, it took determination and patience, and the elf had all that in spades. Varric was beginning to hope that he would see sparks fly any minute now. Time would heal the wound, time would make the bad memories fade. All they needed was time; Hawke had already started healing.

And then, one day, Hawke made an announcement that made time stand still.

"I'm getting married," he said.

Varric had seen the way the elf had paled, the distress in his eyes, the disbelief. He heard all his companions erupt into questions, while Hawke sat quietly in his chair, answering their enquiries with an expression that bespoke of his resolution.

"But I thought you...swung for the other team," Anders had stuttered.

Only a smile, a small smirk, answered that.

"Who's the lucky lady?" Aveline had asked, and Hawke had looked at her with his small smirk getting more cynical, before he answered that she was one of the youngest daughters of some noble.

Merrill, in her usual cluelessness, asked the only question that mattered.

"Why?" she just said, looking at Hawke as if he was breaking her heart with his declaration.

His eyes had pinned the petite elf with unusual intensity.

"I want a family," he softly said. "Someone to love me. Someone to return to at night, who doesn't walk on four legs and slobbers all over my carpet. Children. Why do people usually get married?"

A crack from the other side of the table made everyone's attention turn to the elf, and to the broken glass in his palm, the anger and upset in his eyes. Before Hawke had any chance to say anything to him, Fenris tossed the broken glass away, then got up and stormed out of the tavern, muttering in tevene, literally fuming.

Varric had seen nug shit fly before; and this looked to be a veritable storm of it coming their way.

* * *

He should have been used to spending the night alone by now, but it would never get easier, Hawke realised as he sat in his empty, new living room, only the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and his mabari gnawing on a bone keeping him company. He got up to stand in front of the fireplace, trying to find joy in his previous dream of coming home to a room full of kids laughing and babbling, and a companion, any kind of companion, looking up to him with loving eyes. The youngest daughter of that Count Redfern was a gentle, soft spoken girl and Hawke had been certain that they would be able to at least be friends; she had told him that she knew of his preferences, and didn't mind, as long as he didn't humiliate her with public affairs.

He had been so sure of his decision just a few hours ago; he got a lot out of getting married to the girl, without having anything to lose. If there was a chance for love, for being happy with the man that would forever hold his heart, he would have taken it, he would have waited- three, four, ten years. It wouldn't have mattered. But there was no chance. Fenris was only hanging around because of a misplaced feeling of guilt, nothing more, nothing less. Hawke could not find it inside him to blame the elf for anything anymore; what was there to blame him for? He might have been cruel, he might have accused him of terrible things, but deep inside, after Hawke had gotten over his anger, he could understand why a man like Fenris would react the way that he had at the mere suspicion of having his free will taken from him.

So, Fenris had broken his heart...so what? It wasn't his fault- you couldn't make someone love you to order, you couldn't demand someone to love you back. Just because you lived for someone else, you could not demand it of them. Love wasn't a quid pro quo affair: love me, because I love you too. Give me, because I gave you. Love was there...or it wasn't. And Fenris never loved him, and never would. _And that, my stupid little Hawke_ , he told himself, _is that_.

It had been his own fault, falling for a man that was incapable of loving him back, stubbornly pursuing him, waiting for him, taking him back after three years without even pausing to ask for the reason for his sudden return. It was his fault, for giving his all without getting back even one whispered love word, without even asking for it. He had settled for crumbs, and that was exactly what he had gotten; he had lowered himself to the ground for the man he loved, so he now had no excuse to complain about being trodden on.

When he had first made the decision to get married, he'd felt almost happy for a while. He could still remember that moment in the marketplace, when that gray-eyed toddler had walked up to him; the idea that his own child might look like that one day had brought the desperate longing for a family of his own to the foremost of his heart. It would have been great, returning home to hear lilted, lisping voices greet him with 'daddas' going all around.

But now...his joy had faded, in the face of Fenris' angry reaction. He had found himself aching with the fact that Fenris had been...what? Angry? Jealous? Hurt? He didn't know. He had watched the elf storm out of tavern with sad, heart-broken eyes, remembering back that bright, glorious morning when the elf had grown jealous and possessive and Hawke had been certain it was a sure sign that Fenris loved him.

The elf's anger made him remember, and that had made his dream crash and burn. Him, Gabriel Hawke, marrying? Having a family again? Heavens above, it was a recipe for disaster. He was just asking for more pain, for more disappointment. With his luck, his gentle, soft-spoken fiancé would turn into a shrew, and any children of his would turn out to be mages and be taken away from him. Some great destruction would occur; a blight, a flood, a fire, Qunari attacking, dragons raiding the city.

Hawke had learned his lesson: don't love anything, because it will die, or be taken away, or leave you.

He sighed wearily, then grabbing the bottle of wine he had opened and taking a huge gulp he headed to his room.

Some nights, some lonely, bitter nights like this, the spindly maze of pain and loneliness in his heart became so thorny, so heavy, that only getting drunk could help. Getting drunk or...

He removed his vest, then rolled up the sleeves of his tunic and grabbed a sharp knife from the nightstand. Without even thinking about it, he let the edge touch the inside of his forearm, and slashed a thin, swallow line; blood welled, along with a wave of intense physical pain. It made the throbbing ache in his heart lessen, it made his weary brain focus away from the dark, morose thoughts that only made him want to break everything in the room to tiny pieces. He felt pathetic for allowing it, for being so weak, but he couldn't help it. Looking at his other arm, and the multitude of scars there he touched the knife to his unbroken skin and prepared to slash there as well.

"YOU IDIOT!" a seething voice made him jump, and the knife clattered to the floor. Raising, huge, wide eyes to the door, he saw Fenris standing there, his body rigid, his fists tightened by his side, the white bangs of his hair shading two eyes that were burning with rage.

"Oh," he recovered his composure, bent down to pick up the knife and then waved it around in a deceptively nonchalant manner. "It's you. To what do I owe this visit?"

Fenris moved closer with that otherworldly speed of his, his marking flashing bluish-white. "What are you doing?" Fenris growled. "Why are you cutting yourself? I thought you had stopped this nonsense!"

A small smile, self-mocking and sad, curled Hawke's mouth. "It helps with the pain."

Fenris jerked back, his eyes wide and his face pale. "You are still blaming me," he muttered, his voice bitter, "after all this time, after all the times I have apologised, after I have done everything in my power to show you how I have regretted hurting you."

"No," Hawke shook his head. "I don't blame you, not anymore." He got up, walking to the side table to lay the knife there. One finger slid along its edge, leaving a bloody welt in its wake. Hawke looked at the blood welling on his finger as if he didn't know what it was. "But it still hurts."

Fenris looked him up and down, not exactly sure of what he could say. "I know," he murmured in the end, trying to count the silvery scars on Hawke's pale skin, and failing. Something huge and tender was fighting to come out, fluttering in his heart like a trapped bird. He put a hand across his chest to make it stop. "Don't you think that I know? I hurts me ten times more to see that it does, Hawke."

A wry smile curled Hawke's mouth again. "Great. Another thing to feel crappy about, that being unhappy makes you unhappy as well. Thanks a lot."

Against his will, a smile- just as wry and sarcastic- broke out on Fenris' sensual mouth, as he ripped a strip of the sheets and approached Hawke. He wiped the blood on his forearm, then wrapped it around the rogue's finger."If it stops you from mutilating yourself, let me know."

"Guilt tripping me, now?" Hawke's smile got a bit wider. "Isn't that my job?"

Fenris sighed and moved to the side of the bed where Hawke was sitting on, then sat down himself, inwardly marvelling at how good it felt to be near him like that again. So, it wasn't Lust's influence that had made his heart gallop like a herd of stampeding horses; it wasn't Lust that had made him savour the rich, musky scent of Hawke's skin like it was the most beautiful smell on the world- those had been his emotions. Relief surged inside him, along with other, more demanding emotions: want, craving, possessiveness. Shaking his head to clear it from the tendrils of desire that had started fogging it, he asked the question that had been burning a hole through his tongue from the moment he'd walked in.

"Why are you getting married?" he softly asked, not looking at Hawke, staring at the opposite wall like he could find the answer to life's mysteries in the patterns of the wallpaper. "Is it to get revenge for the way..."

"What? No. No you have it all wrong. Why would that be revenge?" Hawke laughed a bit. "That would be the most ridiculous revenge in the history of failed revenges ever. It's like hanging yourself so that your executioner would be left idle-wouldn't that teach the bugger a lesson?"

Fenris' whole body stiffened up. "I fail to see your point."

Hawke sighed. "Just like an executioner with his prisoner, Fenris," he explained, "it wouldn't be revenge _, because you don't care_."

Fenris felt a wave of righteous indignation and fury fire up his gut. He jumped to his feet, leaned over Hawke, and pushed him back with a rough shove.

"I don't care? I? _I_ don't care?" he hissed thought clenched teeth, then shoved Hawke again, and the surprised human fell back, his expression fearful and bewildered. "Are you talking about me, Hawke? I have done everything but grovel at your feet those past few months. Why would I do that if I didn't 'care' as you said?

"Guilt," Hawke offered, then gasped as the elf pushed him back once more, before climbing on top of him. The rogue was stunned at first and only gazed at him with shock, but soon he started fighting him, trying to push him off with frantic, almost panicky urgency.

"Get off me!" he hissed, using his bigger and taller body to try and fight off the elf. But Fenris was smaller, not less strong. In fact, his warrior strength, pus the augmented abilities that the lyrium gave him, made him capable of overpowering the taller human- not easily, but he could do it. He pushed Hawke's body back, then grasped his arms and thrust them over his head, keeping them there with an effort that made sweat break out on his skin. Hawke attempted to head-butt him and Fenris only evaded the lightning quick rogue for a split of a second; "GET OFF!" Hawke roared, making Fenris' sensitive ears hurt.

With no other option left to shut him up, he bent his head, and kissed Hawke.

The rogue went absolutely still beneath him, his mouth unresponsive and cold at first; he seemed to be in shock, and he hissed and tried to bite Fenris when he realised what was happening; Fenris just increased the pressure of his kiss, making it almost brutal, until Hawke had no choice but to grand him access. A rugged moan escaped Fenris as soon as that heady, unforgettable taste he thought he would never savour again flooded his mouth; and then the first, tentative motions of Hawke's lips and tongue, returning his kiss, accepting it with a resigned moan. He pulled away, realising that Hawke wasn't fighting him anymore, but instead had gone lax underneath him.

A jolt of pain rocked him to the smallest, furthest corner of his soul at the look of anguish and pain in the young rogue's eyes which were luminous with barely held back tears. Hawke turned his head to the side, avoiding the elf's shocked gaze.

"Hawke?"

"Is this going to be my punishment for forcing you? You're going to rape me yourself now?" Then the tall human got angry. "Come on then. No butter needed this time."

"HAWKE!" Fenris gasped, horrified. He pulled away as if someone had thrown a bucketful of scalding water on him.

The rogue jumped up too, too incensed, too hurt, too humiliated, because just about before Fenris pulled back his body had started responding, and he had been ready to surrender to the elf without a second thought. The pain and anguish he had felt all those months ago, the unresolved anger, came back to choke him.

"Come on, Fenris!" he taunted the elf. "What do you want? Do you want me to bend over? Do you want me to get on my knees and suck you off? What do you want?"

Fenris raised his hands in front of him. "Hawke. Please. Calm down."

Tears of despair and anger blinded the young rogue and he swiped angrily at them. "Come on. I'll let you tie me up and fuck me till I bleed. Will that make you happy?"

A groan escaped Fenris, his heart breaking at the sight of the rogue raging like that, his whole body trembling. "Hawke. Please. I want nothing of the kind...just...let me hold you."

All the breath was knocked out of Hawke and he slumped down on the edge of the bed again. "Hold me...What for? You never wanted me, you said it yourself. I told you I couldn't be a casual fuck to you again that night when you came back, I told you I wouldn't be able to take it. You didn't care. You never cared. Don't start pretending now."

Words that had festered for too long now rushed out. "You called me a monster, you told me I was worse than Danarius, and for the longest time...I...I believed it. Then I realised what a fool I had been; this wasn't about what I had, or hadn't done. This was about you, and what you could give me. Trust, no. Love, no. Any trace of tenderness, no. All you gave of yourself was your cock and your ass and damn it, Fenris, there are many cocks in this world and asses all around. I don't want to be someone you stick your cock into from time to time, or someone you bend over for."

He raised his luminous gray eyes to the elf's shocked face again.

"I wanted you to love me. But it's beyond you. So for fuck's sake, let me go. Let me get married, and have babies, and be happy, as happy as I can be. Stop sleeping across my bedroom window, stop flowing me around like some damned puppy I have kicked. Stop agreeing to everything I say. I don't want you. I don't love you anymore."

Fenris bit his lip. He could just do what the human was asking; it was his way out. He could just go, let go, and walk away, just like Hawke was begging him. It would be easier. It would be safer. It would stop this jumble of pain and want and tender emotions he had no idea how to deal with from confusing his heart and messing with his brain. He could walk away; he had done his best, and it had not been enough. Hawke didn't love him anymore; he had just said it himself.

Fighting not to question why that had hurt so fucking much, he bent his head. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" he asked Hawke.

"Both," Hawke buried his head in his hands after giving him a wry smile. "Is it working for you?"he raised an eyebrow.

"No."

A heavy sigh. "Fuck. Not for me, either. But I'll keep saying it to myself until it comes true."

"What if I don't want it to come true? What if I...want to come back?"

"Excuse me, why should I give a shit?" Hawke chuckled bitterly. "You can't have my love anymore, Fenris. I won't allow it. I'm not selling my heart cheap a third time. Even stupid young fucks like me learn their lessons eventually."

"What do you call marrying some _girl_ you feel nothing about?" Fenris folded his arms across his chest. "That you will never be able to love? Or even want?"

"Love has nothing to do with what you have dangling, or not, between your legs," Hawke raised his head and gave him a hard look. "I prefer men; to bed, yes. But to love...I don't care. I can love anyone. Or at least, I could, once."

"Another thing I have ruined for you, no doubt," Fenris' markings alighted with a sudden wave of anger. "I am getting weary of being accused for ruining every and all enjoyment from your life, Hawke. You were not such a weakling when we first met."

Hawke looked away then his shoulders slouched in resignation. "Indeed, I wasn't," he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "But every man his anchor, Fenris, his one thing that makes him tick, that gives him the will to go on; every man has something he draws power from. Mine was love, and friendship, and family."

He raised his head again, and gave the elf a heartbreakingly sad smile.

"I have lost all three. And I'm...just a little lost."

And this was then Fenris finally realised the true depth of the damage he had done to Hawke; it wasn't just the cruelty of his words and actions, it wasn't the rejection. It was the fact that he had destroyed Hawke faith in what he had previously kept precious in his heart. He realised that the rogue wasn't lying when he said he had already forgiven him- he had, but nothing could be the same anymore. It wasn't that the rogue was bitter at him specifically- which he was, a tiny seed of anger and resentment was still there, despite the fact that Hawke had really, truly forgiven him. Hawke was bitter at the world in general, to the fact that the life had not lived up to his expectations. It was the fact that Hawke had lost faith; and damn it, how did you go about restoring someone's faith? Love could be mended. Friendship could be patched up. Families could be forged anew.

But how did you restore one's faith?

He sat by the rogue's side again, his own head slumping. Wordlessly, he bent and grasped the bottle of wine Hawke had left by his bed, and took a huge gulp, then he passed the bottle to the human beside him, who just took it and did the same.

"Apologising once more will not do the slightest amount of good, will it?" the elf murmured, and Hawke nodded no, then passed the bottle again.

"I _am_ sorry, though." Fenris insisted, then drank and passed the bottle again. His eyes were unguarded and soft, all the pain in his soul clearly visible.

"I know," Hawke murmured back, and then, in a gesture that just slashed through Fenris' core, he pushed one of the white bangs that had shaded his face behind his pointed ear. His finger caressed the tip of that ear for a flicker of a second, making Fenris almost want to cry; tenderness, and care, and comfort. The slightest dose of those was a knife twisting in his insides, because he had become addicted to them all, and now he missed them, with an intensity that scared him down to his toes. "I know, Fenris," the human's voice was soft, and apologetic. "I am sorry too. Whatever it was you felt for me, I truly believe you never wanted to cause me pain. You're a good man."

"I wish I knew what to tell you to fix everything, to undo the damage that I did, Hawke," Fenris mumbled, looking at the far wall again. He missed the little sarcastic smile that graced Hawke's luscious mouth at that.

"I doubt you would say it even if you did, Fenris."

Fenris paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth, and gave the man beside him a surprised look. " _Vasta vaas_ , make up your mind Hawke! I'm a good man or I'm not. Why wouldn't I?"

Another sad half smile. "You would have to tell me you love me, Fenris, and you don't do lies."

"Telling you that would make it all better, then?" Fenris mumbled, and a small part of his soul started protesting, started urging him to say the words; but Fenris didn't know if it would be true or not. And Hawke was right, he would never say something like that unless he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure he truly felt it- maybe not even then. For the millionth time he wondered if he did love Hawke- the affection was there, the desire, the want. His pain caused him anguish, his smiles brought him joy. Could it really be that simple? Could it be love that he was feeling?

The simple answer was that he didn't know. He had no idea. He had no experience with the feeling; he was certain there had been people in his life he had loved once- he once must have had a mother, and he knew he had a sister. He must have loved them.. But this...this simmering, elusive feeling, this weight on his heart, pressing him down...this need, and desire, frightening, intense, all-encompassing...was that love? He simply didn't know.

"No, not all better," Hawke replied, then took the last gulp of the wine, and looked at the bottle. "It would make it _worthwhile_."

He got to his feet before Fenris even had the time to process his answer. "I refuse to have this weepy conversation anymore without enough wine to drown a donkey," Hawke said. "What do you prefer, Antivan or Fereldan?"

The wince on Fenris' face at the last word must have betrayed him. "Antivan it is, then," Hawke said then he went downstairs to fetch the wine, leaving Fenris there. The elf got up and walked to the full size mirror in the corner, taking a good look at himself in there, and hating what he saw. A man who hesitated, who didn't even know his own heart. A man that was unable to love, a feeling that was as fluid and flowing as water, as easy and natural as breathing to other people. He could not identify it, could not tell it apart, could not trust in it. He raised his hands and looked at the lyrium lines decorating his fingers. Had he been a different kind of man before the ritual had changed him? Had he been someone who was capable of feeling? Had he been someone that would have taken Hawke's offered chance for love and run away with it?

He lowered his hands with a sigh as he heard Hawke coming up the stairs again. Whatever kind of man he had once been, he wasn't it anymore. The man he was now, this lyrium decorated warrior standing in front of the mirror, had been steeped in hate and mistrust, had dulled his feelings and emotions, had controlled his heart for too damn long. His heart was nearly necrotic; it wasn't easy making it wake up, it wasn't easy dealing with emotions like those that he so craved from Hawke. Whether the damage done to his heart could be undone was uncertain, whether the dead tissue could be made to live again, to feel again. And it wasn't fair, that while his heart only knew hate, he wanted Hawke to love him; it wasn't fair to the rogue.

Fenris didn't know if he could ever return anything close to the feeling that Hawke described as love, so at that moment, he made the choice to never pursue Hawke again, because it was completely unfair to the human, it was inhuman to make him hope.

His mind made up, he turned to the rogue. Hawke was standing in front of his desk, looking at his bloodstained tunic, then quickly tossing it off. He searched in a pile of discarded, wrinkled clothing for something else to put on, holding up an equally soiled shirt up for inspection, then tossing it aside with a curse. He shrugged, and grabbed the bottle again, peering at the label, his slim, toned torso bared down to the low riding waistline of his leather trousers. His one arm was bend at the elbow, his biceps bunching as he pulled the cork out, the pectorals on his chest moving under his skin, tightening up. His tattoo- those dark, swirling, flowing lines that made such stark contrast with his pale skin- moved and bunched too, sweeping down his torso to disappear past the waist of his trousers, over the baby soft skin of his hip.

Desire roared inside Fenris, pushing everything else away, all logic, all decisions, all rational thought. Pain disappeared, regret vanished, his resolve evaporated. Relief flooded him as he realised it hadn't been Lust that had made him want Hawke so much, it hadn't been that demon's foul touch that had made his knees nearly buckle with yearning for the pale rogue's flesh; that had been him, all him. He fought against the dark tide that started making his whole body vibrate, tried to push it down, tried to still the desperate, needy reaction of his own body to the one that stood before him.

It was no use. His markings alighted with a bright flash, and his eyes fogged over. Hawke raised startled eyes to look at him, and then his breath caught, trapped as he found himself in the predatory gaze of the warrior in front of him. Green eyes smouldered under Fenris' white bangs, as he watched the tall human gulp down his breath, his gray eyes impossibly wide.

"Fenris?" the rogue had just enough time to voice, his breath starting to pant, as his desire caught as well, set aflame by the one he saw so clearly reflected in the elf's eyes.

The elven warrior moaned, low in his throat, the sound almost purring in that low, gravely baritone of his, making the other man nearly stumble with the longing it awoke in him. Fenris moved closer, then grasped the bottle of wine from between Hawke's limp fingers, and took a huge gulp before giving it to the rogue, his eyes challenging him, inviting him. Hawke had to swallow twice before bringing the bottle to his lips, and throwing his head back to take a gulp. He nearly choked as he felt a warm mouth kiss along the line of his corded neck, Fenris' tongue licking down the straining tendon until it reached the hollow of his neck, where his pulse was beating erratically, as fast as the heart of a trapped bird.

Sanity fled the tall rogue as well, all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this were incinerated in a hot rush of desire that nearly set him aflame. Fenris' fingers wrapped around his, raising the bottle that was still in Hawke's hand and letting the wine inside spill against Hawke's chest; like blood- dark, red, rich- the wine painted the rogue's flesh, spilling down his front to wet him down to his knees.

Hawke was surprised it didn't hiss and fizzle, that the heat burning along his skin didn't make it evaporate. He groaned when Fenris' tongue caught a drop of wine that had lingered over his nipple, then laved the flat disk until it pebbled. His hands came up to cradle the elf's head, slipping into those silky white tendrils, pressing his mouth closer to his flesh in wordless invitation; Fenris complied, wrapping his lips around the hard little nub and suckling hard.

A primal cry of want escaped Hawke, his head thrown back, his whole body arching. It spoke of both his pleasure and his pain, the anguish and the bliss of feeling Fenris' touch again. It signalled the complete and uttered end of all reason, of all sanity, of all coherent thought. Hawke knew he would regret it afterwards but at that moment in time, he didn't care- rather, his body didn't care. His body knew no regret, no heartache, no disappointment. It came brilliantly alive, sang with joy, flamed with lust.

Long, talented fingers tackled with the clasps and fastenings of Fenris' armour, while the elf's mouth traced a path of pure destruction over Hawke's skin, blazing, setting him on fire as it roamed from one nipple to the other, as it traced the pectorals, as it dipped lower to count each abdominal muscle one by one, licking up the wine. The tall human groaned, then with a move of pure violent desire, he yanked the elf up by his hair and kissed him like he craved to, a long, drugging kiss, wet, hot, dominant. Fenris gave back as good as he got, counter-attacking with small nips and ruthless ferocity, battling it out; all the while, Hawke was making short work of his armour and clothes.

Male, primal groans of relief and hazy pleasure echoed in the room when naked bodies came in touch for the first time after months, hardness to hardness, muscle to muscle, unyielding flesh to its equal. Another scorching kiss before they were blindly making it to the bed, a minimum of petting and fondling, before Fenris found himself straddling Hawke, rubbing his aching erection against the rogue's. One smouldering, insanely hot look between them, both of them reduced to nothing else than two pleasure fogged, lust-ridden male animals, eager to rut. Fenris leaned down for another kiss, and he felt the rogue's erection find its mark; ruthlessly he pushed down, making his own flesh succumb and stretch, ignoring the searing pain, as Hawke's shaft surged inside him.

He threw his head back, his white hair flying around his head, moaning his pain and his bliss at feeling that long, thick cock so deeply inside him, making his hole thump and throb in protest. Nothing had been used to ease the passage, no preparation had been made, and the pain flared, making his markings glow as bright as daylight. Hawke grunted underneath him, then his hips jerked upwards, until he was balls deep inside the slight elven warrior that was trembling above him.

One thrust, two, then more, rough, violent, the pleasure burning them both. Urgent, violent mating, primal and primitive, grunts and moans resonating around the room. Hawke's fingers tightened on the elf's hips, bruising, clutching on with almost desperate intensity; his gray eyes slitted, burning like overheated mercury, taking in the sight that Fenris made as he raised and lowered himself on his straining cock. No other though, no other emotion other than complete bliss, than perfect fulfilment.

He saw Fenris' eyes fogged, lost, focused inward on some fast approaching destructive end, like a jump from a high cliff, and decided the angle wasn't enough, that the connection between them was too little. He rolled the elf over in a fluid move, managing somehow to still stay connected as he curled the elven warrior on his side, then raised one of his legs high to slip even further inside him from behind. He was able to deliver the deep, punishing thrusts he wanted in this position, while being able to touch and glide his hands all over that exotically tanned flesh, the lyrium lines that were vibrating like a thing alive. One, two thrusts more, his balls slapping against Fenris' ass, then he lost all connection to his own body as he came, his seed shooting out of him and his soul flying among the stars in an explosion of ecstasy so total, so out of this world, that he was left nothing more than a mass of trembling, softly groaning pile of goo.

But it wasn't over, as Fenris took just two seconds to recover from the ruthless pounding, then slipped his hand between his legs, gathering Hawke's seed and coated his own shaft with it. Hawke had little chance of stopping him- and no will at all- as his body was still shuddering and jerking in the aftermaths of his orgasm; he was turned to his stomach, and a second later it was his turn to hiss and groan as Fenris' cock rammed inside him in one thrust- one long, punishing, hammering plunge, that buried him deep inside.

No quarter was given, no regard for niceties and comfort; pain didn't matter. Pain just made the pleasure flare higher, hotter, faster. Hawke surrendered in turn as the elf lay his whole weight on top of him, pushing in with whole-bodied thrusts, rocking against Hawke's rounded ass, every plunge accompanied by a moan and a desperate, broken recital of his name.

"Hawke." One more thrust- deep, fierce. "Hawke." Another one, touching nerves that sang in pleasure and pain. " _Hawke, Hawke, Hawke_... _HAWKE_!" until the rogue came again, drenching the bed sheets underneath him, and vaguely feeling that last, punishing shove inside him. He moaned as Fenris' cock swelled before delivering his seed inside him in long, scalding spurts that went on forever.

Lost in the haze of the most total ecstasy he had ever lived through, he didn't even realise when Fenris pulled away to lay beside him, he didn't even register the warrior's frantic question of whether he was alright or not.

But pleasure, and lust, never lasted forever. Sanity was bound to return, and it did so, inch by inch, making Hawke tense up and start trembling again. As he came to his senses, and realised what they had just done, what he had allowed to become to the elven warrior again – a mindless, easy roll in the hay, a hot piece of ass Fenris just rutted with- his body and mind froze over with pain and shock.

"Are you well, Hawke?" Fenris put a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly Hawke couldn't bear his touch, couldn't take anything touching him. He jerked out of the bed, gathering the sheet around his hips, ashamed and mortified, while his heart galloped and his mind raced.

"I'm fine," he just said, his voice tight. "Just...just give me a few minutes."

Fenris bit back a groan. Maker, what had he been thinking? He fell back on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands and muttering darkly in Tevene. _Venhedis_ , if there was a way to make a bad situation impossibly worse, _this_ had been it. His body was still vibrating in pleasure, his ass was still throbbing like an angry wound; Maker, they hadn't used anything. They could have seriously hurt each other in that fog of lust and want that had consumed them.

Maker, what was going on through Hawke' head right now? Fenris cringed at the thought.

"Well," Hawke, said finally, turning slightly back, "I see you were determined to ruin this bed for me as well." A small wry smile graced his lips before it faded to be replaced with a sad, forlorn expression. "What part of 'I don't want to be another fuck to you' did you fail to understand?"

"I wasn't the only one that wanted this!" Fenris hissed, indignant at his accusation. Something inside him, something small and unidentifiable whined at him to tell the rogue that he wasn't one, that he meant much more than that, but he pushed it down, desperate to defend himself against the reproach in Hawke's eyes.

"No, you weren't," Hawke bowed his head again, sitting there at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped. "We both wanted it. At least none of us can accuse the other of forcing or rapin-"

"Don't even say it Hawke," Fenris voice rumbled menacingly. "I never want to hear those words from your mouth again. Am I understood?"

"Alright," Hawke just answered, his voice small and a little lost. "Can you leave now?"

"You are dismissing me?"

Another sarcastic, self-deprecating smile. "I doubt you want to see me break down and sob like ...what did you call it? A weakling? So..." his voice broke, "yeah... I'm dismissing you. Please."

Fenris didn't find anything to say at this; he wasn't even sure he would be able to, because that tight lump had closed his throat again, and that uncomfortable, pressing weight was once gain pushing down on his heart.

"I'm sorry," he just said, and Hawke shrugged.

"I'm sorry, too. For everything. Ah, crap. I'm sorry and I'm tired of it." He laid back on the bed, looking up on the ceiling, his eyes covered by his arm. "This was stupid. It was the mistake to end all mistakes."

Fenris picked up his clothes with that old familiar feeling of guilt gnawing at his insides, hoping against hope he would manage to find something to say, that Hawke would change his mind and ...call him back. He snuck one last look at the rogue then stood stock still as shock shot through him.

From this angle, that huge dragon tattoo on Hawke' chest looked nothing like a dragon. He squinted, trying to make the pattern out in the dark, then he gasped.

It was a snarling wolf, its monstrous jaws open, ready to devour Hawke's heart.

He lowered his head, and for the first time since he could remember, he felt tears burning in his eyes. Turning around, he left as quietly as he had come, vowing that he would never trouble the rogue again.

He had done enough damage already.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a saying about the best-laid plans of men and mice, but Fenris couldn't remember it. As he paced the room in front of his fireplace, all alone in the huge derelict mansion, all he could remember was that moment in the holding caves, when Hadriana had revealed to him that he had a sister, alive somewhere in this world. He had at first dismissed the thought, thinking it to be nothing more than one of that vicious bitch's mind games, but...but it was true.

He had sent a letter, carefully worded –revealing no crucial information other than his current location- over a year ago. And now... _this_. A reply. A letter in an unsteady handwriting, telling him that if he were who he claimed to be, his sister would be there at the Hanged Man to meet him.

One week, she would wait for him, she said in her letter.

The whole thing reeked of a trap. Two days had already passed, and he'd dared not even pass outside the Hanged Man. He'd asked Aveline to check it out, and she'd just left, telling him that the ship's manifest was as it should have been: one lone elf, a female, had disembarked at the Kirkwall Docks, and was now seen frequenting the Hanged Man's tavern, waiting alone at a table every day. Varric, whom Fenris had contacted by messenger had said the same thing, that he had seen no suspicious movement, and little went past the dwarf.

Still...a little unidentifiable voice in his head screamed that it had to be a trap. Things couldn't be so easy- things were never so easy, not for Fenris. His survival instincts were screaming at him, cautioning him.

He started pacing again, until he got to the heavy table in the middle of the room. His temper and frustration getting the best of him, he flipped the table, bringing all the bottles and glasses on its surface crashing to the floor. Still, it didn't make him feel any better, it didn't ease that irritating, whining voice in his head from driving him almost crazy.

"Picking on tables, now?" He heard a voice from the doorway and turned to see Hawke looking at him, a puzzled look on his face. "Maker, Fenris...what's next? Trees?"

"Hawke. What are you doing here?"

The tall rogue approached, carefully avoiding the breakage of glittering glass on the floor. "Varric told me."

Fenris huffed a frustrated breath. For three months now, he had been avoiding Hawke, staying true to his decision to never bother him again. He only went on quests after being specifically asked to, he had stopped trailing Hawke, had stopped dogging his every step like a beaten puppy. He had even stayed clear of the Hanged Man, in fear of meeting up with him there. Hawke had seemed...relieved and saddened at the same time, but mostly relieved, as if his absence was allowing him to breathe more easily. The few times Fenris had seen him, on quests, he had looked almost back to his normal self- except that he never smiled, not anymore, not like he used to. His smiles could be politely describe as smirks- they were usually sarcastic, or wry, or even sad. Nothing like those full, beaming smiles of his, that shamed the sun in their brilliance, and dimpled his cheeks in that adorably boyish way.

Fenris had ached to see that his absence had made Hawke feel better- ached and felt strangely gratified, as well, fully believing it to be living proof that he had made the right decision that night, by vowing to stay away from the rogue.

He missed him like he would miss a limb, and the distance only made things worse. Out of sight was definitely out of mind for him, because his dreams were plagued by the rogue -as was every waking moment. That last night- their desperate, violent, fervent coupling, the need neither of them had been able to control...it was a memory both torturous and incredibly arousing. But it wasn't fair- it wasn't fair to Hawke to only take that from him, to only take the physical pleasure and ignore all the rest. Hawke deserved someone that could love him as whole-heartedly as he loved, with every fibre of his being.

Hawke deserved a better man than him, and Fenris was not such a bastard as to deprive him of that. Hawke's infatuation with him would die of natural causes- time, distance and indifference. It was the right thing to do, the only thing Fenris could do. Since he could not return his love, he had to let him go.

Maker, though, it hurt.

Fenris was beginning to suspect his obsession with Hawke went beyond the physical attraction that smouldered between them- but was it love? He couldn't tell. He didn't know. What was this feeling that Hawke labelled as love, anyway? When he had though Hawke had taken advantage of him, he had been furious, and hurt- the feeling of betrayal had been so intense that it had made him forget about mages and magisters and all the monsters of his past. Then, when he had realised how he had wronged Hawke, how he had hurt him, his heart had bled. He'd found it impossible to live with himself, with the guilt eating away at his insides.

Was that love?

The human had moved to the only unbroken piece of furniture in the room, a chair by the fireplace, and sat down, looking at him with a frown, and Fenris struggled to gather his fragmented thoughts.

"Your sister, Varric said?" Hawke asked. "Were you planning on telling me about her?"

"I see no reason," Fenris said. "You are not my keeper."

Hawke's lips tightened at that and he folded his arms against his chest. "No. But I'd hoped...I was still your friend. I was obviously wrong."

Fenris threw his hands in the air with a muttered curse. "Friends..." he scoffed. "Are you trying to be funny, Hawke?"

The tight expression in Hawke's face grew even colder, before he sighed and looked away. "Not even friends, then..." he muttered, then smirked his wry smile. "Have it your way then, Fenris. But I am still...your..." he searched for a word, "business associate? You could have asked for my help."

Fenris came to a complete halt, hope starting to unfurl inside him. "You would come with me, then, even knowing it could be a trap by my former master?"

Hawke paused, his eyes warming for a brief moment. "Always, Fenris."

The quiet, calm way with which Hawke uttered those words rocked Fenris down to his soul. Hawke still had his back, despite everything. "Maker, Hawke..."

The tall rogue got to his feet. "Come on then. Time's wasting. Let's be off."

Fenris stopped him with a hand on his bicep, and Hawke turned to him with an expression in his gray eyes that was surprised and inexplicably annoyed.

"Well, look at that..." he drawled. "It seems I don't have the blight after all."

What Fenris wanted to tell him died on his lips and he drew back, one dark eyebrow rising in silent question.

"You have been avoiding me," Hawke explained. "I'm stupid, I'm young, but I'm not blind. Ever since that night, you have been treating me like a leper."

Fenris' forehead scrounged up in confusion. "I thought that some distance between us was what you wanted. It certainly seems to have done you good. That night...you asked me to go, as I recall."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "When are you going to learn that 'fuck 'em and leave 'em' isn't really the way a gentleman behaves? Or that it _never_ makes things better? You should have stayed. "

"I never claimed to be a gentleman," Fenris offered a wry smile, because in complete contrast to his words, he could see that Hawke wasn't angry; instead there was a little teasing smile playing around his lips, that made Fenris' heart soar with joy.

The smile got a bit wider. "Your one saving grace; you are always brutally honest. But...you're right. It did me good. I needed some time. I needed some distance."

"And now?" Fenris couldn't resist asking. "Where do we stand now?"

Hawke drew in a deep breath, regarding him with a strangely intense look. "Where we've always stood. You are the prickly elf that wants nothing to do with me, and I the lovesick little fool that can't stop wanting you."

Fenris drew a deep breath at that; he was shocked down to his soul. Hawke still loved him? After all that had gone on, after all the heartache, the bitter words, the anger and resentment?

"Don't gape like that, Fenris, you look like a fish."

Fenris' jaw shut with a click, as he abruptly closed his mouth. "You...I mean..."

"Don't stutter, either, it's unflattering."

"Stop jesting Hawke!" Fenris exploded. "Do you mean it?"

" _And_ I really must point out that having tantrums and exploding like this is..."

"Hawke. Stop."

"Make me," the tall human winked playfully. "The best method is a kiss."

Fenris shot him an irritated look. Why in the Maker's name had he wished for the old Hawke to return? The man was back to his infuriating habit of teasing and flirting and driving him up a wall. If only he also smiled, too, Fenris would be able to let this uneasy feeling of worry in his heart go, the one that cautioned him to the fact that not all hurts had been erased.

"I see you are back at playing the clown," he muttered darkly, through clenched teeth.

Hawke huffed. "It's better than feeling sorry for yourself. Honestly, the pity party was getting a bit old."

"So that was it?" Fenris felt this irrational urge to provoke the rogue, to see to what extend he could rile him, to see if this light-heartedness was just another mask that Hawke had put on. "You're back to teasing and flirting, just like that? Everything forgotten?"

Hawke heaved a frustrated sigh and then sat back down. "Alright, then," he muttered. "You want honesty? Here's honesty for you: I realised I can't stop feeling what it is that I feel for you," he raised his hand to stop Fenris from speaking. "I also _know_ that you don't feel the same, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise. So, that is _that_. We tried, and we failed. Spectacularly. I have to find a way to put it behind me, and this is it. Being a clown. Can you live with it?"

Fenris gave him a long, thoughtful look. Could he? Did he want to? One part of him was relieved, because they could go back to the old familiar state of affairs between them, when he pretended not to notice that Hawke wanted him. The other...the other was howling in loss and pain. One part of his soul wanted what he had discovered with Hawke, those three days of togetherness and intimacy- the other dreaded to take the step.

And besides...Hawke would not take him back now, not even if he begged. He had lost the human's trust, and it would be a long and arduous path to recover it- if he decided to try and recover it, of course. In the end, old buried fears and insecurities won- the hesitancy and cautiousness that had been a part of his soul since he could remember himself won. He nodded to Hawke that he agreed and the human gave him a sad little smirk, before he got up.

"That settles it, then," Hawke said, after looking at him for a few seconds, his face set in an unreadable mask. "We'll put the whole thing behind us, like an experiment gone wrong."

"I'm sorry, Hawke," Fenris felt the need to say to his back.

The rogue's shoulders fell a bit. "No need for apologies, Fenris. That's just the way you are... You don't do love and I do it too easily and too carelessly. We'll try and be...friends, of a sort, and it's the best we can ever be."

He turned over his shoulder to give Fenris a small smile at that, making Fenris feel as he watching a funeral; that smile was sweet, but had a sense of finality in it, in the hard lines of determination around Hawke's mouth.

Why did he suddenly have this feeling –chilling him down to his toes-that he had just been offered one _last_ chance, which he had lost?

He shot the rogue a covert look as they were walking down the stairs to Lowtown together, and stifled a sigh. When no one was looking Hawke's face had this faraway, introspective look on his face, those lines of sadness bracketing his full, luscious mouth. He might appear like he had found his cordial, joyful demeanour again, but it was all an act, after all, one that he had perfected long ago and had now dredged up to hide behind.

Hawke had given up on him, he realised with a jolt. Totally, and for good. He might still have feelings for him, but he had resigned to never having them returned; the thought brought shame to Fenris, shame and regret. He fervently wished he were a better kind of man, one that deserved Hawke's love, but he wasn't; and _that_ , as Hawke had said, _was that_. He didn't do love, he didn't trust love, he had no idea how to return it. He had no idea if he was even capable of it. He had no idea if the feelings Hawke evoked in him were anything close to what the rogue labelled as love.

He looked up to the sun, suddenly feeling anger choke him; the mages, his former master, had done this to him, had made him incapable of feeling what came so naturally for all other living creatures, the most basic of emotions...love.

And Hawke had paid the price- he was still paying it. He could hide behind humour and flirty, teasing smirks all he wanted, but Fenris wasn't fooled. Those smiles were missing- even the bright fake ones, the ones he used to cover up is emotions. Fenris found himself wishing he would see just one of them, even a fake one, because that would mean Hawke was truly recovered. A pang of regret went though him at the thought; Hawke hadn't been happy back then, he just pretended to be, and they all hid their heads in the sand and pretended to believe him because they didn't have time to deal with his problems. He wanted to kick himself; he was hoping that Hawke would return to his old self for his own comfort and peace of mind. Because it would be easier to ignore Hawke's pain if it was hidden under those bright, wide, totally phony smiles.

What kind of man did that make him?

For the millionth time, he wondered if what he was feeling for the man was more than simple want, more than a simple infatuation. He wondered if offering the words that Hawke wanted to hear would make everything better, or more difficult, more convoluted. He wondered if what he felt when he saw Hawke, this elusive feeling that made his heart beat faster, was love.

He wanted Hawke to be happy. He wanted to see those beaming, contented smiles of his again, he wanted to hear his throaty, joyful laugh. He wondered once more if this was because of love. But, once again, he had no answer, he had no way to know. Not for certain, not without a shadow of a doubt.

Little did he know, just an hour or so later, he would get his answer.

* * *

It became apparent very soon that the little nagging voice in Fenris' head had been right- the whole thing had not reeked of a trap for nothing. It had been a trap, one laid out expertly and with the outmost care to details. How his former master had managed to hide an entire party of men and his own loathsome presence form Varric's all-seeing eyes was a mystery. How that city authorities had not caught on to the fact that a Tevinter Magister had snuck his way into the city was a puzzle. How his former master- a man accustomed to extravagant, grandiose shows of power and intimidation- had learned to be so stealthy was beyond him.

But here they were nonetheless, fighting the men his former master had brought with him, all seasoned, experienced slavers, and then a host of demons and shades; just him, Hawke, Aveline and Varric.

The battle wasn't going well- not well at all. Varric was already wounded and although his beloved Bianca still rained bolts on their enemies, Fenris could see the dwarf wobbling on his feet, pale and pained. Bianca's bolts faltered, didn't find their mark so often, and after a while they stopped, and Fenris tempted fate by unfocusing from battle to look at his direction. He was slumped on the ground, hardly moving. Aveline was caught in a spell, some horrid dark magic, that was draining her indomitable strength, making her drop to her knees.

And Hawke...Hawke was ghosting in and out of battle, faster than the eye could see, using smoke and bombs to his advantage, striking from shadows unerringly, his twin daggers flashing and glinting, the hilts coated in blood. As one of the shades rushed Fenris, swiping at his with its monstrous nails, he dove and dug under its reach to deliver a withering blow that made it shriek and fade into nothing more than ash, then locked eyes with the rogue, motioning to their comrades that were in trouble.

Hawke rushed to Varric's aid, a tight frown of alarm and concentration on his face. He pushed back the men that had circled the dwarf with a well placed bomb that fazed them for a few seconds- time enough for the deadly rogue to deliver a few well-placed, dilapidating blows. He shoved a health potion between Varric's hands, then with a series of movements that dodged blows and arrows with all the grace of a dancer, he made his way by Fenris' side.

For just a few seconds, they stood back to back, Fenris' huge greatsword held at the ready, Hawke's daggers in a battle stance as enemies circled them.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked urgently, eyeing the enemies that were slowly closing in on them.

"We're losing, in case you're wondering," Hawke stifled a strained little laugh.

Fenris swung his sword to keep some of the slavers approaching them back. "Any suggestions?" he tossed to the man behind his back.

"The first chance you get," Hawke said calmly, "get out of here. I'll hold them off."

Fenris' eyes widened, and he hazarded a look behind his shoulder, that nearly cost him his life as a shade's claws passed a fraction of an inch from his jugular. He heaved his huge sword and delivered a series of blows that reduced that shade to ashes as well, then he looked at Hawke; blood was running down his face from a gash on his forehead, a bruise was slowly forming on his cheek from where he had been hit with a shield, but he was calm, almost smiling, his eyes determined and unfazed.

"Get out of here," Hawke murmured, and a gloved hand holding a bloodied dagger rose to lightly stroke his cheek. "GO. RUN. And don't look back!" He then smiled, a sweet, slightly tremulous smile, a real smile, that made one dimple flash briefly, before turning around and walking determinedly away, his shoulders squared, his head lowered.

"Danarius!" he bellowed, drawing the magister's attention away from Aveline. "Here, you sick fuck! Take _me_ on!"

Fenris felt shock go through him. He looked around, and the faces and monstrous forms of attacking enemies and monsters blurred; instinct took over, his body going through the motions of fighting on its own while his mind reeled. Plunge, retreat, swish. _Hawke. Hawke. Hawke_. A parry, then a strike, then a half turn to stab the man behind him through the abdomen. The sound of clanging daggers and a pained groan as one of Danarius' spells hit. _Hawke. NO. Hawke. HAWKE._ Hawke was fighting his old master for him, going against an enemy that could reduce him to nothing more than a puppet with a flick of a wrist. For him. So he could escape.

_Hawke. Gabriel. My Gabriel..._

_My love._

And then it hit him, and escape became impossible. The hard shell of bitterness and hate cracked in his chest, and Fenris finally knew his own heart, taking a good look at what lay behind that wall of detachment for the first time. There was so much love there, so much unending, unconditional love for the man that was desperately fighting the Magister behind him to give him a chance to escape, that Fenris was nearly brought to his knees.

_How could I have not seen? How could I have been so blind?_

This brilliant, all-encompassing light in his heart- it was love...and he hadn't even realised. He turned around, dreading what he would see, and his breath caught; Hawke had one of his daggers firmly embedded in the magister's belly, but not without having taken a deadly blow himself. He watched, his vision tunnelling to block everything else out, as he saw Hawke fall to one knee, his hand still holding the dagger, putting the weight of his body behind his grip to twist it in the innards of the howling magister.

He watched in dread as his other hand loosened and the dagger clambered to the ground, as Hawke fell backwards. A huge gash was welling blood on his side, where the magister had thrust the dagger sharp end of his staff through him and half his face and his hair were smoking, burned to a black, terrifying mass of gore. Blood bubbled from his mouth, and from millions of small cuts on his skin; the magister had used one of his blood magic spells, that caused every recent wound on Hawke's body to haemorrhage. Chilled to his core, Fenris remembered the rogue's sickening habit of cutting himself, and he nearly howled with rage and fear and guilt. The magister pulled the dagger out, wailing in pain and anger, and prepared a healing spell.

The thought that the monster that haunted his nightmares would survive while he might have just cost him Hawke was what motivated Fenris, snapping him out of the stupor his fear and shock had caused him. He prowled towards the magister, activating his markings, and picked him up effortlessly from the neck, his fingers ghosting though his flesh to tighten around his spine.

"You are no longer my master!" he spat and then snapped the mage's neck like child snaps a wishing bone.

He tossed the remains of the man that had destroyed his life to the ground carelessly, then turned to the man that had given any semblance of a meaning to it, even though he hadn't even realised it. Varric also got on wobbly legs and approached, ripping of his vest and tunic to make bandages, wincing at that previous silvery gray eye that had turned a milky white amidst a mass of burned flesh.

"Fuck, Hawke!" he muttered, his fingers flying to the catches and clasps of Hawke' armour, desperately pushing leathers and clothes out of the way and pressing the bunched up clothing against the gaping wound on his side. Hawke groaned though unconscious, but Varric just pressed harder, trying to stem the blood flow. "Shhh. I know it hurts, Hawke. Hold on, my boy."

Fenris raised his face to see Varric's eyes filled with unshed tears- his lips thinned as he tried to hold in the anguished cry that rose in his throat, clawing its way out. Aveline stumbled to their side, her one arm hanging limply by her side; at the sight of the mangled, charred wound that half of Hawke's face had turned into, she turned to the side and became violently ill.

"We need Anders," Varric muttered, pressing down on the wound with all his might, making the young rogue groan. "Elf, go get Blondie! Now!"

Fenris ran, faster than he had ran in his life, flying past his sister that was quivering in fear next to the door and not even paying the traitorous bitch a second glance. Buildings and faces blurred as he ran, his breath sawing in his lungs, his body ghosting despite his will and scaring half of Lowtown out of ten years of their lives. His brain somehow provided him with the route, because he didn't think he could see where he was going, not with the tears blinding him.

Hawke's face, that gorgeous face, burned to a gory, blackened mass of flesh; the sickening scent of singed hair and smouldering skin. It was all he could think of as he ran, his heart hammering, blood running down his spine from an unnoticed wound on his back, chilling him even further.

He fell to his knees at some point, terror and fear making his legs give out on him. His momentum carried him forward, and he had to put his hands out to steady himself, clutching at the ground in front of him.

Pain slashed though him, and an anguished moan escaped him.

_Maker. Hawke's dimple on his right cheek. Destroyed._

_Both sides of Hawke's face, scarred because of him._

He rose to his knees, howled his pain at the thought, then got up and started running again, tears streaming down his face.


	13. Chapter 13

Pain. Nothing but pain, for the longest time, centred on his face and in his side. He floated in and out of it, trying to fight it, trying to claw his way out of the stupor it caused and into consciousness. Something didn't let him; a gentle touch and he was back in a realm even deeper than the Fade, walking around in nothingness.

"Don't try to move, Hawke," a gentle voice said every time, and Hawke had no option but to obey it.

He heard disjointed voices around him, voices he knew but couldn't understand. Hands touched him, gentle hands, carefully, tenderly. He thought he heard his mabari whining once or twice, before he was pulled into that dark, peaceful realm of oblivion again.

When the pain got worse, he realised that whatever it was that was keeping him under had decided to let him wake. He tried opening his eyes, groggy and disoriented, and the events of the battle with Danarius slammed into his brain, along with the most agonising pain he had even felt, even worse than when the Arishok's blade had run through him. The pain on his side was closely reminiscent of that, but the pain along his face, the sheer agony that stabbed his brain when he tried to open his eyes- that was a new level of suffering.

A moan of pain escaped him, and immediately a hand was on him, gently trying to keep him still.

"Hawke, don't move, please," Anders' voice cut through the pain. "I know I hurts, my friend. I'll put you under again, but we need to get some food in you."

He tried to listen to the voice, tried to make out what it was saying. One of his eyes refused to open and dread spread thought him- dread and panic, as he remembered that fire bolt that had caught him straight in the face. The memory of his own flesh burning filled his soul with horror; a wince he involuntarily made spread new waves of untold pain along his face.

He tried to lift his arm, to touch his face, realising it was heavily bandaged.

"I did the best I could," Anders said, and Hawke's left eye opened to follow the movement of the mage next to his bed, searching around for the source of the sound. Still blurry, still unfocused, that mercury-coloured eye blinked repeatedly to take in the image of Anders with a frown of concern on his tired, haggard face, then closed. That look on Anders' face said it all- Hawke knew it. He had lost his other eye.

He tried pointing to his face, his voice still refusing to work, then pointed to his mouth, and attempted to lick his lips to signal that he was thirsty. Maker, he wasn't just thirsty, he was as parched as a desert, his mouth dry and his tongue swollen. Something blessedly cool touched his lips, and he tried to gulp down the offered water, but the hand holding it drew back.

"Tiny sips, Hawke," Anders' voice cautioned him. "Just wet your lips a little. You can't drink too fast."

He did just that, his hand raising from the bedcovers with effort, his fingers bending slowly, leaving just one standing up- the middle one.

A chuckle escaped Anders. "Well, thank you very much, Hawke. It's nice to know my efforts are appreciated."

Hawke drank in little sips, the water feeling blessedly cool and refreshing.

"To answer your previous question," Anders said, sighing, "Your face is a mess. I think I managed to save your eye and I repaired most of the damage to your skin; you'll scar a little, along the jaw where the damage was worse, and your ear is a lost cause, I'm afraid. That damned earring melted and took your lobe with it."

Hawke's eye fixed on the face of the healer again, then he tried nodding in thanks, making another pained gasp choke out of him.

"I wouldn't recommend moving your face," Anders said, "but I think you got that already."

A solitary eye-roll.

"You lost your spleen, too," Anders said. "It seems you have something against your internal organs- you try and get rid of any more of them, and I can't guarantee it will go over very well."

A shoulder shrugged and Anders chuckled. "Yeah, I thought so. You're more interested whether your pretty face is ruined or not. Well, I hope you won't need an eye-patch."

That one eye widened in fear, and Anders felt like a heel for saying that. "Don't worry. I did my best. I'm confident we'll save it. You might not have eyesight like an eagle – or a hawk- anymore, but I'm almost positive you'll be able to see."

Anders turned to the bedside and laid the cup of water down. "I'll go get you some broth," he said, "and then I'll put you under again. It will help with your recovery if you're not moving around."

A hand grasped onto his forearm as he was turning to leave.

"F..Fenris?" Hawke croaked, his voice barely audible.

Anders gave a little tense smile. "He's just outside. Shall I call him?"

Hawke nodded no, then closed his one good eye and fell back on the pillows. Anders stood watching him, then snuck a look at the door, where the elf was standing, his head bowed, listening in.

Anders didn't like the elf- if he was going to be honest with himself, there were few things about the elf that he didn't despise. But the look of misery on his face, the way he had stood by Hawke's side all these days, the way he had agonised with every little moan and grunt of pain that Hawke had made...he couldn't help but sympathise with what he was going through. Even if the elf felt nothing for Hawke- which Anders was starting to believe less and less- watching the rogue almost die to save him must have been a blow.

"Give him time," he told the elf as he was going by, and Fenris' head jerked up, a strangely appealing wide-eyed look of surprise on his face, before he scowled again.

"I have plenty of that," he said, "thanks to him."

Anders nodded, then got down to the kitchen, where a cook they had hired was preparing a rich, nutritious broth for Hawke. Maker be praised, Varric had taken one sniff of the concoction Merrill and Isabela had tried to put together, huffed, and left only to return with a dwarven woman that would, as Varric said, 'cook my boy something that doesn't smell and taste like stale nug piss'.

Anders sighed as his stomach rumbled with the delicious aroma that was wafting up from the kitchen. He hadn't eaten more than a few bites all this time- maybe he should take the time to sit down and eat after he put another sleeping spell on Hawke. Fenris would stay and keep vigil over him- he had done nothing else all this time.

He caught himself feeling sympathy for the elf, and shook his head to clear it. Damn him. He loathed him and all he stood for. His stance on mages and their rights was enough to drive him up a wall, but...

Damn those puppy eyes.

* * *

When Hawke next woke up the pain had lessened somewhat- it wasn't as constant, as agonising. It was still there, a deep, throbbing ache, but it was bearable. He was able to sit up for a while on his bed, supported by fluffy pillows, and he was allowed to eat a few bites of stew along with his broth.

When he woke up the next day- having slept without a being sedated for the first time- Sebastian was napping on the chair by his bed, and Hawke signalled the fact that he had awoken by tossing him a pillow; it had hurt his side to the point where tears had welled up, but the look of surprise on the usually composed archer was priceless.

Sebastian was standing to the side now, watching as Merrill fed Hawke his soup, babbling a mile a second, telling him how stupid it had been that they hadn't taken her with them if they suspected they might be going up against a blood mage, and then jumping to the subject of flowers and butterflies and then back again to how glad she was he had survived, and oh, look, a rainbow.

After the bubbly elf had left, Sebastian gave Hawke a long, appraising look, then took the seat next to him bed again.

"A fine mess you have gotten yourself into again, Gabriel," he muttered.

Fenris jolted at the doorway, ready to close the door behind Merrill. All these days, Hawke had made no move to call out to him, or acknowledge he was there, although he had locked eyes with him a few times, when he had been barely conscious, and Fenris had been helping change his bandages.

And now...Sebastian was calling him by his first name, a name that belonged to Fenris, _damn it_ , a name he had been forbidden to speak. Jealousy rose its ugly head inside him, and he stood by the door, closing it but for a crack, and listened in.

"Seb," Hawke groaned. "Not you too."

"Oh, you mean to tell me that there have been others as well that took you to task about how incredibly idiotic it was to take up a magister outnumbered and ill-prepared? Well, alert the Chantry. There had been an increase in intelligence in this here city."

"Sarcasm is a sin in the eyes of the Maker, Brother Sebastian," Hawke drawled.

"So is suicide."

"Suicide? _Moi?_ Absurd."

"Don't you give me sass, boy," Sebastian growled. "If Merrill hadn't been there to reverse that spell that ... _creature_... hit you with, you would have bled on the floor of the Hanged Man like a struck pig!" Sebastian barked. "I thought you promised to stop the cutting, Hawke!"

"I promised I would _try_ ," Hawke corrected, looking away. "Well, I gave it some... _pointed_ effort."

"Don't crack jokes about it, Gabriel," Sebastian's voice was angry. "It's not funny."

" _Cut_ me some slack," Hawke rolled his one good eye.

"Hawke!"

"Alright, alright," a little laugh bubbled out of the rogue. "I'll _cut_ it out."

Sebastian couldn't resist chuckling. "Little clown."

"Stuffed shirt."

"Well, I came to see if you're alright, and it seems you are just fine." Sebastian got up, then shot the young rogue a little knowing smile. "Unless there is something you want us to talk about."

Hawke snuck a look at the door.

"He's out in the hall," Sebastian interpreted the look correctly. "Why have you been avoiding him?"

Hawke sighed. "What am I supposed to tell him? Maker, Sebastian, we've been through this before...it's over. You were the one that told me that I needed to find a way to put it behind me."

"I never meant for you to push him completely away, though, Gabriel."

A huff answered him. "I nearly cripple myself trying to save his life, and you tell me that I'm pushing him away? Sebastian...if there was anything more I could do to make it clear to him that I still...have feelings for him, that I always will, that was _it_. What else do I need to do? Put up a sign?" He shrugged and looked away again. "I offered him one last chance...to say something, do something, _anything_ , to show me that I...mattered. Just a little. He chose the friendship option, and seemed relieved to do so. And I _still_ didn't give it a second thought...I would have gladly died for him."

"You would have done that for any of us."

"Yes," Hawke nodded. "But not _gladly_."

Sebastian sighed wearily. "And once more, this conversation is running around in circles, like a dog chasing its tail. Hawke...you need to tell him outright. Subtle nuances don't work with Fenris, not when it comes to feelings he doesn't have any experience with. Either that, or never speak a word about it again."

"I've said it times enough." A hand went up to stop Sebastian's comment. "No. No, Sebastian, I'm never saying I love him again. Ever. If he wants me, he has to say it first."

Sebastian rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I feel like I'm talking to two-year-olds sometimes. Mummy," he thinned his voice "he pulled my pigtails."

"I have no pigtails," Hawke run a hand over his clean-shaven skull. "Bald as a baby's bum, here."

"Hair grows back."

"Eyes don't."

Sebastian took a seat next to him again, then leaned forward. "Is that what you're afraid of? That he will...mind if you lose your eye?"

Hawke's fingers trailed up to touch the bandages that were covering half his face and his eye. "Well," he sighed. "he didn't want me when this," he pointed to his face, "was handsome. I doubt he ever will now. Not that I should care or anything, but...I'll be ugly, Sebastian."

"You couldn't be ugly if you were turned into an ogre, Hawke," Sebastian's voice was soft. "You're beautiful on the inside, my friend, and one day you'll find someone that appreciates it."

"My, my, Brother Sebastian," Hawke gave him a small smile that made half the side of his face scream in pain. "I do think that was a compliment. And if came from anyone else, I'd call it a come-on."

"Dream on, Gabriel. I don't do fools."

"Well, that rules me _right_ out," Hawke pursed his lips not to laugh again, and cause himself more pain. "A bigger fool than me never did exist."

"Gabriel..." Sebastian patted the rogue's arm. "He loves you. One day he will see. I just hope it's not too late, and that tender heart of yours hasn't managed to push him completely out by then. I strongly advise you to keep trying to forget him, not to wait for him, because I care about your happiness...but he's my friend too. It pains me to see you both suffering."

A deep, heart-felt sigh answered him. "Fenris doesn't do love. He has no idea how. Even if he loved me, he would fight it with everything in his soul; it's weakness. It means leaving your soul bare for someone else. It takes trust, and Fenris and trust...let's just say they met briefly, and didn't like each other."

Sebastian chuckled, then rose to his feet again. "I haven't given up hope on him yet...he's a good man, you've said it yourself. Just a little dense. The Maker will guide him."

Hawke grasped the hand the archer had laid on his arm. "I never thanked you Sebastian..." he swallowed hard. "All this time, when Fenris was avoiding me...our talks did me a world of good. You helped me put some things in perspective, and I will always be thankful for that."

Sebastian waved the thanks off. "Don't mention it Hawke. It was nothing."

"It was not. I had too much anger and bitterness inside me, you were right. I think ...I still do. A little. Sorry about the punches, by the way."

"You do pack a wallop, Gabriel," Sebastian rubbed his chin. "Good thing you didn't break any teeth."

"You shouldn't have called him my bitch."

"I was trying to provoke you," Sebastian smiled. "The scuffle was...cleansing, I should think. You needed it."

A small laugh answered him. "I never knew how much until the first blows started flying. Thank you for posing as a punching bag."

"You are welcome. But it was a onetime offer, Gabriel," the ex-prince's laughed back in his thick burr. "I'm sure I managed to put a few blows in there somewhere, but basically you whooped my ass, as Isabela would have said."

Fenris took all the dialogue in, his mind reeling. So. During the months that he had kept his distance from Hawke, he and Sebastian had gotten closer, and talked and even...fought? The emotions going through him were so mixed that he couldn't even begin to put a name to them. Sebastian had provoked Hawke into a fight? They had resorted to a fistfight?

Hawke had alluded to the fact that Sebastian and he had been having talks about him and that the Chantry priest had helped him get some things into perspective. Was that why Hawke seemed so much more...calm and collected that day when he had come to offer him his help? Was that why he seemed to be almost back to his old self?

The cutting...Sebastian had made him try to stop it. Hawke had tried, and failed. It nearly cost him his life, that sickening habit of his; if Anders hadn't thought to call Merrill to reverse the spell that day, Hawke would have bled to death on the grimy floor of the Hanged Man.

Gratitude for the tall ex-prince flooded him, flowed closely by a feeling of jealousy and possessiveness. They had gotten close, and Fenris, who was still fighting to reconcile with the revelation of his own heart to him, felt this totally irrational urge to steal Hawke away where no one else could come close to him, no one else could call him Gabriel with such familiarity. Hawke was his. _His_ damn it, and his alone.

He froze in place as the door opened behind him, and Sebastian walked out with a smile on his face that rapidly faded when he spotted Fenris.

"Andraste's flaming a...ahem." He cleared his throat, then quickly muttered an apology to the Maker's Bride. "Fenris. What are you doing here?" then his eyes widened and he slapped his hand on his face. "You heard everything, didn't you?"

"Let us have a little talk, Priest," Fenris hissed, "you and me, _Hawke's bitch_. Shall we?"

Sebastian cringed. "You heard that as well?"

"Indeed, this bitch did," Fenris gave him a none too gentle shove. "This way, Sebastian."

He shoved the pale archer into an empty room, and watched in hidden amusement how the archer hands weren't exactly steady, and how wide with panic his eyes were.

"Don't do anything rash, Fenris," Sebastian said, looking for a way to escape.

"The first think I have to do," Fenris said, his face shoved menacingly into the tall archer's, "is say...thank you."

"Th...thank you?"

Sebastian opened his eyes, which he had closed in preparation for the blow he was sure to follow, to see the elf's gaze, luminous, unguarded, filled with an emotion that was completely alien on his face.

"Maker's breath..." a smile slowly spread on Sebastian's face. "You've seen the light, haven't you?"

A tiny smirk curled Fenris' mouth. "That I have, my friend, that I have. Now sit there, and tell me how to win him back."

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"You never lost him, you idiot."


	14. Chapter 14

Hawke woke up to find Fenris by his bed, sleeping in the chair. His gaze trailed over that handsome face, relaxed in sleep, almost innocent and childlike in peaceful slumber. A lock of his snow-white hair had fallen over his face, and Hawke felt the overwhelming urge to reach out and brush it away. His fingers twitched, as he stretched his hand, then he clenched his fingers into a fist, and reluctantly, with herculean effort, he pulled his hand back.

Fenris was not his- not his to caress, not his to touch, not his to love. Fenris belonged to his own self and no one else. Hawke cursed the demon in that amulet once again- the worst thing it had done to him was to show him how it could have been, if only...

If only. Two small words, tiny, insignificant. Yet, they could cause so much pain.

He closed his one good eye, feeling something inside him break and shatter- it couldn't be his heart, because that was in pieces already. As he lay there, watching the face of the man he loved so desperately, the last stubborn, clinging pieces of hope bled and started shrivelling.

Fenris was now free- he could go, put the City of Chains and him behind him. He could do anything now. He could travel, he could settle down, he could ride out into the sunset.

Fenris no longer needed him, not even to help keep him safe.

It was while he mourned that fact in his mind, that the warrior woke up, and saw the pained expression on Hawke's bandaged face.

"Hawke," he leaned towards him, putting one hand out to touch his shoulder. "Are you in pain?"

That one intact luminous gray eye slid open. "Yes," Hawke said, then looked away. "Yes, I am."

Fenris jumped to his feet. "I'll go fetch Anders."

"Leave Anders alone," Hawke murmured, then leaned his head back into the pillow. "It's nothing he can help with."

A twinge of regret tightened Fenris' heart when he realised that Hawke wasn't referring to physical pain. "Even the sight of me causes you distress, Hawke," he sat down again, after taking a long look at the lines of pain etched on what he could see of the rogue's face. "I am sorry." He buried his head in his hands, guilty and feeling weary of it.

"Aren't you tired of being sorry?" Hawke said, surprising Fenris with how his words matched so closely what he was feeling. He gave the rogue a surprised look; his lips had curled into a dry smile but he resisted opening his eye. "I know I am," Hawke sighed. "It seems we are beginning or finishing every conversation with apologies, lately."

"It _is_ exhausting, I will admit that." Fenris smiled. "But apologies are necessary when one has wronged someone, like I have you."

"Wronged me?" that silvery eye opened to finally look at him. "Why, because you don't...you know. _That_? That's absurd. _That_ feeling cannot be given to order."

" _That_?" Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Maker, Hawke, you never had any qualms saying it."

" _That_ ," Hawke affirmed, then looked away, swallowing heavily. "I have now."

Fenris looked to his feet for a moment. "You have always been the bravest one among us. Free with your heart, free with your emotions. I...I don't know if I could ever say it."

"You would have to feel it to say it, Fenris," Hawke smiled a little bitter grin.

"I feel it," Fenris said, his voice soft but confident. A little shocked gasp that escaped Hawke made him smile, a wry, self-deprecating grin. "I just...cannot say it."

Hawke's one eye widened over a suddenly blanched face. Fenris could see the disbelief clearly written across his face, and swore at himself. There had been a time when Hawke would have leapt with joy to hear that Fenris felt anything but lust for him- but now all he could offer was distrust.

Hawke got over his surprise fast, and narrowed his one functioning eye. "Are you sure it isn't gratitude or guilt speaking, Fenris?"

"Absolutely not," Fenris shook his head vehemently. "With the risk of sounding ungrateful, it is not gratitude, nor guilt. It's... _that_."

"You can't even say it," Hawke huffed. "It's like you're emotionally constipated and that's the biggest shit you've ever had to push out."

Fenris' face scrounged up in an grimace that was full of self-loathing and a little bit of disgust. "I would not have put it in such crude terms, but yes, basically you are right. But that does not mean I do not feel... what I feel. It appears I have felt it for a long time, and didn't even realise it."

He raised his head and gave Hawke an intense look. "Will saying 'I ... _that_ ...you' do?

Hawke buried his face in his hands, laughing slowly. "Oh, Maker, you're killing me," he snickered. Then his laugh died out, and his face took on the same intense expression that was still on Fenris' face.

"No, it will not do," he said, his voice soft. "I want the whole thing, Fenris, words and all, the works. And even then, I probably won't believe it."

"Understandable," Fenris smiled his lopsided smile, determined not to be discouraged. "I shall keep trying then."

Hawke was about to say something, but Anders walked in at that same moment, announcing it was time to take off the bandages that covered his face.

Fenris tensed up. He knew in his heart that it didn't matter whether Hawke was half-blind or even fully blind, whether his face was deformed; he would still love him. It wouldn't make a speck of difference to him, but Hawke seemed terrified, suddenly.

He rocked on his heels, unsure of what to do; go, or stay and offer support? Did Hawke even want him there? The rogue had gone deadly still, as Anders cut through the bandages carefully, but Fenris could see the slight tremor that shook his shoulders, and how one of his hands had clutched the sheet as if to draw courage from it.

Something in his chest gave a hearty kick, his heart started galloping, and he realised that he couldn't leave Hawke. It was impossible. Nothing could drag him out of this room. He moved to the side of the bed opposite to Anders, staying carefully out of the healer's way, and laid his hand over Hawke's clenched fist. It took a few seconds, but that hand slowly unclenched, and Fenris slipped his fingers between Hawke's.

And then held on tightly, offering whatever support he could.

Love, he was slowly learning, wasn't just smiles and pleasure and shared intimacy- love was being there, when there was nothing else you could do to help.

 _Just being there_ \- so that was what he resolved to do, wincing as the bandages fell away to reveal red, swollen skin. There was a red mark along Hawke's jaw line, where the skin was twisted into an angry looking scar. Anders run his hand over it, humming, and then gave Hawke an encouraging smile.

"It's healing nicely," he said. "with burns like this, it's skin and muscle contractures that really cause the awful looking scars, but we can safely say you don't have any. There might be a discoloured patch in the future, but I don't think it will get any worse than that."

He removed the bandage even more, and winced. "Well...at least you're not an elf. The ear is a mess."

Hawke's fingers clenched around Fenris'.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Fenris asked softly, and Anders looked to him, then at their joined fingers, and the white-knuckled grip that Hawke was giving the elf.

"The lobe is gone. There is nothing I can do. I'm sorry Hawke."

Hawke's lips thinned. "It's alright, Anders. I was too damned pretty anyway."

Fenris lips curled into a small smile. "That you were," he leaned to look at the mangled flesh that remained of Hawke's ear. "We'll have Varric invent some outrageous tale, about how the Arishok bit off your ear before he died, Hawke," he said. "I dare say it might even start a fashion trend."

"We?" Hawke drew in a surprised breath.

"We. Remember, Hawke? I _that_ you."

Hawke's lips twitched for a second, before he smiled, and Fenris nearly started bawling with relief.

The dimple was still there.

"Let's take a look at your eye," Anders said, shaking his head, baffled by the incomprehensible exchange. "Elf, would you mind closing the curtains?"

It was reluctantly that he let go off Hawke's hand to do as Anders had asked, his fingers lingering for a while on the rogue's, caressing his skin as he withdrew; he noticed that Hawke shuddered, and a little smug grin almost curled his lips. Hawke might have decided to let him go, he might have given up on him, but he still wanted him. Fenris had the ability to affect his body like no one else- that sad thing was, it wasn't just his body that he wanted anymore. He wanted his heart too, and that was closed behind doubt and mistrust.

He hadn't accepted Hawke's love when he had it, hadn't trusted it although he had wallowed in it. He had only taken and not given anything back, nothing else than heartache. And now that he wanted to give, now that he wanted to lay his heart open to him, Hawke was convinced it wasn't true.

It was fitting punishment.

He returned to the bed just as Anders was cutting away the long strip of bandage that was holding the soft linen eye-patch he had used to cover Hawke's eye with when he had finished healing it, five days ago. As the blond healer carefully removed the bandage, Fenris bit the inside of his lip not to wince, because Hawke's other eye was fixed on his face. Still, some small grimace must have escaped him, because Hawke's face paled even more.

"That bad?" he asked softly.

Anders turned the rogue's head to the side, breaking their eye contact, for which Fenris was suddenly grateful. The eye was a puffy, red mess, the eyelashes singed off, the flesh new, pink, glistening.

"It's the worst it's going to look," Anders answered Hawke, looking intently at him, accessing the damage with a critical, experienced eye. "It can only get better. I know it's shocking" he glanced at Fenris, "how it looks right now, but it will get better. I will give it another round of healing; the skin will be good as new, and new eyelashes will grow soon. I'm more worried about the eyesight than the appearance."

"One way to find out," Hawke attempted to grin, before slowly trying to open pry his eyelids open, wincing as the still healing tissue protested.

"Slowly," Anders waved his hand over his eye, a silvery-blue aura of healing magic easing the pain, and making the irritated flesh look less swollen. "It will hurt at first, and you might not be able to see anything; don't panic."

Hawke took one deep breath, before he opened his eye to close it immediately again, with a cry of pain.

"Sweaty armpits of Andraste!" he cried out, only Fenris' and Anders' hands stopping him from pressing his fist over his eye. "That fucking HURTS!"

"I told you so," Anders smiled tersely. "Blink repeatedly."

"Blink my ass!" Hawke hissed. "Do something, you quack!"

"Hawke," Fenris lowered the tone of his voice into a cajoling, intimate octave, rusty and soft at the same time. "Don't be such a baby."

Hawke shot him an one-eyed incredulous look, before he pouted. "That's gratitude for you," he said.

"Come on, open your eye," Anders cajoled. "It won't hurt that much this time."

Hawke looked from one to the other, pouting even more. "No," he shook his head. "It hurts, you big bullies."

"For me," Fenris crooned, earning a disbelieving look from the blond mage. "The man who _thats_ you."

Another laugh bubbled out of Hawke's mouth, while Anders looked from him to Fenris as if they had both gone mad. "Alright," Hawke grumbled. "One more effort."

"Hold my hand if it helps," Fenris offered, making the expression on Anders' face border astonishment.

"No, I need both hands free to hit you if it hurts too much," Hawke replied, then slowly, agonisingly, he tried to pry his closed eyelids open again. A hiss escaped him, and then a pained growl; he blinked repeatedly, his eye watering.

"I can't see anything," he moaned, making a herculean effort to not obey the command his brain was sending to every muscle- to close his eye again, and press his hand against it. "Fuck it, Anders, I'll need that eye-patch and a matching parrot after all."

"Give it time."

Slowly, torturously, he blinked again, willing the tears of pain away. All he could see were hazy shadows, while his other eye sent his brain a crystal clear image. The two disjointed images blurred together, making his brain ache with the effort of blending them into one; he blinked again, harder, more desperately, willing the fogginess away.

"All I can see is shadows," he closed his hurt eye again, then fell back on the pillows, a groan of pain and frustration escaping him. "Fucking glorious. My name has never been so ironic before. "What do you call a blind hawk?" –"Gabriel"."

Fenris gave Anders a questioning look when the healer's face erupted into a bright, relieved smile.

"If you see shadows, then your vision will return. It means the optic nerve wasn't destroyed." He patted Hawke's arm, then bent to take a couple of jars and vials from his backpack. "I'll give it another round of healing, and you have to put this cream on your skin at least three times a day. As for the eye...warm camomile compresses, and rest. Try not to get your skin infected. And stay out of the sun."

Then Anders turned to Fenris. "You. If you want to make yourself useful, get me these ingredients." He handed a list to Fenris, who peered over it, trying to make out the letters. "I need to make Hawke more cream for his burns."

Fenris turned the paper upside down and then handed it back to Anders. "Tell me the ingredients."

Anders seemed to be embarrassed of himself. "Oh...I'm sorry," he said. "You can't read?"

"I can read," Fenris smoothly replied, "when the writing is not gibberish."

Hawke laughed. "If you were wondering why nobody uses your manifestos for anything else than to wipe their ass with, Anders, _that_ is the reason."

Anders drew up, insulted, then huffed and left the room, leaving the list behind.

Fenris picked it up again, and peered at it, squinting. "There better not be eye of newt and dead man's toes in here."

"Beeswax and colostrum, you dunce!" a voice bellowed from the hall.

"Colostrum?" Fenris looked at Hawke, one eyebrow rising.

"Better start looking for pregnant cows, Fenris."

The elf sighed. "I was hoping it would take dragon's blood and a Varteral's heart. So I could prove how much I _that_ you."

"Pfttt," Hawke huffed. "Start with the cow mamas. We'll see how it goes."

* * *

Fenris took it upon himself to apply the cream Anders made that night, under the healer's watchful eye, that made him wash and rewash his hands a thousand times, and stood to the side with his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face.

Hawke's eyes were focused on Fenris', the frown of concentration on his handsome face, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he applied the cream with feather-light touches.

"It smells like shit," he murmured, trying to hide the fluttering in his chest at the tender, careful way that Fenris elegant fingers touched his scarred face. It was far from the truth, of course. The cream had a sickening sweet scent and smelled strongly of beeswax, but he had to find a way to hide the fact that his heart was thundering in his rib cage at the proximity, the way his whole body had tensed with want and longing. Fenris' breath was caressing his face, his fingers playing over his skin. It was tenderness and care, and Hawke's starved heart could barely take it.

"Don't be such a whiny baby," Anders chastised him, then shot the elf a withering look. "The first sign of infection I see, elf..."

"Mage," Fenris spat, dragging his eyes away to glare at the blond healer, "I think you have overstayed your welcome."

"Excuuuse me," Anders drawled sarcastically, "but who's the healer here, me or you?"

"Anders, go," Hawke said softly. "Get some rest. We have this."

"We?" Fenris said, his voice barely audible.

"We. You _that_ me, or so you say."

Anders shook his head. "Danarius must have shot you both with a stupefying spell. _That_ and _this_ and blubbering. You don't make any sense."

None of them gave him any notice, locked in an intense stare, Fenris' fingers still on Hawke's face. The blond mage shook his head again then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The click of the door seemed to wake Hawke, who had been left staring into Fenris green eyes, searching for the truth in his gaze. He turned away, swallowing heavily, then sighed. Fenris' fingers withdrew from his face- his lips tightened with disappointment for just a second, before he got his usual stoic mask back in place.

"Let's move on to your side," he said, professionalism in his voice. "Anders said we need to change the bandage."

Hawke rose from the pillows, then struggled with his tunic. Fenris rushed to help him, pulling the loose fitting shirt over his head, carefully avoiding his injuries. He drew a little startled breath when he realised Hawke was completely naked underneath it, his eyes lingering over the pale expanse of skin, the semi-erect length of his cock that nestled in that dark tuft of hair.

"Pervert..." Hawke accused him light-heartedly. "Stop ogling me. You've seen me naked before."

"A sight for sore eyes, Hawke," Fenris drawled dryly.

"Really?" Hawke looked down at himself. "I should look at myself more often then. My eyes certainly are sore."

With the initial wave of lust that he had felt somewhat pushed back by the playful banter, Fenris took another, more critical look of Hawke's body, noticing the dark bruises, the bandage that was wrapped around his torso and the bones that protruded at his hips.

"You've lost weight," he commended.

"Ah, yes. I went to see Orsino- rather he called me." He narrowed his eyes at Fenris at that. "Thank you for that, by the way. Not humiliating, not in the least." He looked away, sighing, and went on, hating himself for the look of guilt on Fenris' face. "Anyway, Orsino examined me. Thanks for that, too. I had to tell him all sort of _delightful_ little details." He shuddered a little, then went on, oblivious to the fact that Fenris was beginning to tense up even more. "He said that Lust was feeding on my soul, and that had some effect on my body as well. I lost some muscle tone, that I might never get back." Hawke shrugged indifferently, then tensed at the way Fenris' whole body lit up.

"Hawke?"

"It's nothing," he was quick to reassure a suddenly shaken Fenris, watching in alarm how his fists clenched next to his body, how the markings vibrated with blue light. "Calm down, Fenris," he couldn't help but scoot a little further off on the bed.

Fenris' markings went out and the elf gave him a suddenly shattered look. "You're afraid of me," he simply said, pain lacing his voice, making it even hoarser that usual.

"A little," Hawke nodded, keeping him carefully in his sight. "Last time I saw your markings light up like that..."

"...I nearly killed you," Fenris completed. His head bowed down, then his hand alighted again, bathed in the silvery blue glow of his lyrium. His hand landed on his own chest, his eyes strangely shimmering. The edges of his fingers penetrated his armour and then his skin. Hawke watched, his breath hitching, as those luminous green eyes widened in pain.

"Say the word, Hawke, and this," Fenris' fingers dug deeper over his own heart, "is yours."

Hawke swallowed heavily, then dread spread over him, watching as those finger dug deeper and Fenris' eyes watered with pain. He found himself with a gasp and slapped Fenris' arm with all his strength, surprising him enough to make his hand withdraw.

"ARE YOU FUCKING MAD?" he roared. "Maker's sweaty BALLS, Fenris, don't EVER scare me like that again!"

Fenris blinked, watching in awe how rage transformed Hawke's young face to that of the Champion of Kirkwall, that battled monsters and dragons without fear. "You harebrained IDIOT," he was bellowing, "do that again and I'll shove your glowing hand up your fucking ASS, you moron!"

"That is yours as well," Fenris deadpanned.

Hawke's eyes widened in stunned silence, then his lips started trembling before he erupted in laughter- that glorious throaty laughter that Fenris so loved.

"Don't make me laugh," he wiped tears of mirth off his face, "it hurts, you idiot."

Fenris pursed his lips against the smile that was aching to come out and split his face as well, then concentrated on Hawke's wound, trying to change the bandage with Hawke's whole body trembling with barely held back laughter.

Inside him, something was dancing in joy.

Healing. Healing took time, it took effort, trust took blood and sweat to restore. When he had first realised that he loved Hawke –so much, so desperately- he had been baffled as to where to begin to win his trust back, how to make the rogue take a chance on him again. He had resorted to just being there for him, no matter how long it took, until Hawke realised that he would always be there, that he would always have his back. He had resorted to doing anything in his power to show the rogue that he was the very breath in his lungs.

He knew it would take time, that there would be times when it would look hopeless. He had hoped that Hawke would start showing signs of affection soon. He had resigned himself to waiting with bated breath for any sign that showed that Hawke was willing to take him back- a caress, an intimate smile, a kiss.

But laughter was a good start. Perhaps...perhaps it was the best.


	15. Chapter 15

Fenris spent the night sleeping by Hawke's side, curled up uncomfortably in the chair next to his bed. All through the night, he would wake to check up on Hawke, especially when –once or twice- he rolled over in his sleep and hurt his still recovering face.

The rogues amassed in force in the morning; Sebastian, followed closely by Varric and Isabela. The dwarf gave Hawke's face a startled look, then shook his head.

"That bad, Varric?" Hawke said, his voice still sleepy. Fenris gave the dwarf a menacing look from behind Hawke's back, silently threatening him with a painful death, cautioning him to be tactful.

But tact and Varric were -at best- complete strangers.

"You look like a skinned nug that wasn't cooked very well, Hawke," Varric said, plopping down on the bed.

Hawke tensed just a tiny bit, before smiling. "And was pissed upon, I'd wager."

Isabela approached him and looked closely at his face. "You'll have a scar," she purred. "Scars are sexy. I _like_ scars."

Hawke rolled his eyes, then winced. "Ouch. That hurt. Damn it."

Sebastian smiled indulgently at the light-hearted banter, then looked at Fenris with a raised eyebrow. The elf looked away, blushing slightly, and then shook his head negatively. The tall ex-prince knew that any moment now his two rogue companions would start making lewd comments that would embarrass the warrior, and perhaps make him lash out with thoughtless words.

"Fenris," he addressed the elf. "Why don't you go have something to eat? And perhaps a bath? We'll stay with Hawke."

Fenris shot the prince a look of gratitude before he locked eyes with Hawke and bowed his head. His eyes were apologetic, and Hawke realised how uncomfortable he felt, so he waved him away, focusing on the gossip Isabela was regaling him with.

As Fenris was leaving, he thought he heard Isabela ask Hawke if Fenris had stayed and kissed his booboo all better, and Hawke's throaty laughter in response.

When he returned, a few hours later, all his companions had left, but he heard an unknown, -but vaguely familiar- voice talking to Hawke in a low, friendly tone. He shamelessly put his ear against the door and listened in.

"I will admit it, Hawke," the unknown man was saying, "you were right. Thrask has been whispering about it for months, now. There is something...not quite all right with the Knight-Commander. I am worried."

"Cullen," Hawke sighed. "She's crazier than a sack of ferrets, my friend."

A heavy sigh escaped the Knight-Captain. "Orsino and her had a full blown fight in the street the other day. Orsino was openly talking against her, and...let us just say that if the Grand Cleric hadn't intervened, I don't know where Orsino would be right now."

"Shit..." Hawke moaned. "I leave those two alone for two seconds and this is what happens! I'd facepalm, but I can't. It hurts too fucking much."

Fenris heard an amused chuckle. "You just _had_ to go and get your pretty face mangled up, Hawke."

"Pretty?" Hawke growled. "The Champion of Kirkwall is not 'pretty', Knight-Captain Cullen. He is _ruggedly_ _handsome_."

"All you're missing is a parrot, and a bottle of rum."

"I have it on the highest authority that eye-patches and scars are sexy, and everyone loves pirates," Hawke huffed. " They are _debonair_ , or some such Orlesian nonsense."

"Isabela is that highest authority? Your sister told me all about her. I'd take what she says with a grain of salt, Hawke."

Fenris eyes widened with surprise and a small gasp escaped him at Hawke's next answer. "If my sister is talking about Isabela while you fuck her, Cullen," Hawke said, snickering, " you must be boring her."

"HAWKE!" The other man shouted. "Keep your voice down!"

"Nobody else here than you, me and Fenris at the door," Hawke calmly said, then erupted in laughter again at the panicky yelp that Cullen let out as he leapt to his feet.

Fenris sighed and opened the door, to see the Knight-Captain, pale and shaken, looking at him with wide eyes while Hawke hooted with laughter.

"Your secret is safe with me," he told the templar solemnly, then shot Hawke a chastising look. "Safer than it is with this clown, at any rate."

Cullen nodded to Fenris, then reached out and smacked Hawke's arm, who was still laughing, one hand on the wound at his side. "Stop it! For shame, Hawke! Talking about your own sister like that!"

Hawke wiped the tears of mirth that had run down his face. "Oh, come on, Cullen. If it were anyone else but you, do you think I'd be here cracking jokes?" His smile faded and his eyes suddenly glinted with a menacing, threatening look. Lo and behold, Hawke the laughing young clownish rogue was gone, and the Champion was looking at them, authority and menace written on every line of his face. "If any other templar had dared lay a single finger on Bethany, I would have razed the Gallows to the ground, Cullen," he said in deceptively silky voice. "I was almost ready to do it anyway, but she told me she's in love with you. I broke three ribs- that was enough. Barely."

Cullen put one hand against his side. "Four. But that is besides the point. No one can learn, Hawke. I will not be able to protect her if Meredith knows." He blanched at the though. "Maker preserve us, if she finds out!"

"She's dangerous, Cullen," Hawke sighed. "I'm not all for mage freedom and stuff like that. I understand mages need to be trained and watched. But she's taking it a bit too far."

"What would you have her do?" Fenris spoke up. "Release all the mages and let them run amuck in the city?"

Hawke's luminous gray eyes fixed on the elf. "They are mages, not lunatics."

"We have seen more blood mages in one year in this city than others see in all their lifetime," Fenris insisted.

"Must be something in the water."

"Jest if you must, but you know I am right, Hawke," Fenris growled. "Mages cannot be trusted. Even the ones with good intentions among them are susceptible to temptation. And there is always a reason why a mage chooses to go astray. Mages cannot be trusted."

A small frown curled Hawke's lip.

"Just like every man that steals, murders or rapes, Fenris. There is always a good excuse. Mages are people, just like everyone else. Weakness is an inherent fault- it is not caused by magic."

"But magic gives the weak power over the strongest of us."

"So does a sword. Or an army. Or a shipment of Qunari explosives. Blame the hand that yields the weapon, not the weapon itself."

"I have the impression I am rather redundant here..." Cullen said, watching the exchange, seeing how both men had tensed up, neither of them willing to back down.

Hawke's attention snapped back to the templar, then his face fell. "Give Bethany my love, Cullen," he said, his eyes shaded by sadness. "Tell her," a small sad smile graced his lips, "that I...think of her often. Tell her that I wish I could see her, even for a while."

The templar stood still for a moment, then nodded his head. "She does too, Hawke. She talks about you all the time. Shall I tell her of your injury?"

"Maker above, no!" Hawke exclaimed. "Whatever for? She'll just be worried."

Fenris felt like a heel watching Hawke's sorrow. He had forgotten, in his irate tirade against mages, that Hawke's last family member was locked in the Tower. He had forgotten that when he berated mages he spoke out against Hawke's deceased father, that the man still adored, and his beloved sister.

Cullen took his leave from a suddenly pensive Hawke, after they had decided what his official report to Meredith about the Champion's injuries would be. Fenris found himself alone with Hawke in the room.

"So..." Fenris sat next to Hawke's bed. "Your sister and the Knight-Captain?"

"Sisters and their damned surprises, right?" Hawke raised an eyebrow.

Fenris huffed. "Your sister just sprung a love affair with a templar on you. Not a magister."

Hawke gave him a pointed look. "What _did_ happen to your sister after all, Fenris? I didn't count hearts- has she joined the choir invisible?"

"She escaped in the commotion," Fenris clenched his fists. "I had things of greater import to concern myself with."

An eyebrow rose over Hawke's uninjured eye. "Oh? Like what?"

"Like keeping an imbecile that attempted to die on my behalf among the living."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Such folly. He should be committed to an asylum. I wonder if Bertrand wants a roommate."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "I apologise for before," he said. "I will be the first one to admit that your sister is like no other mage I have ever known."

"Alert the Chantry! Fenris said something nice about a mage. Wait..."he narrowed his eyes. " _Was_ that something nice? I can never tell with you."

Fenris twitched uncomfortably. "I will admit there must be mages that are honourable, well-intentioned people..."

"Are you feeling alright? Are you warm, perhaps?"

"...honourable people," Fenris pinned Hawke with an annoyed look, "that have no intention of dealing with demons..."

Hawke held up three fingers. "How many are these?"

"I am in earnest, Hawke," Fenris insisted, desperate for Hawke to see that he could overcome some of his prejudices, that he was not a bigoted, closed-minded zealot. "There are mages that are...tolerable. Even they are not safe from temptation, certainly, but many of them do not pursue it, for sure."

"Lie down," Hawke made a move to empty some room on the bed. "I'll get Bodahn to make you some tea, and you'll be in the pink in no time. You probably caught a bug."

Fenris made a frustrated noise.

"Come on," Hawke's eyes twinkled. "Say it. _Festis mei canaberum- madaverum_ , or how the devil is it that you say it. I will be the death of you."

"Indeed," a wry half-smile answered him. "But some things are worth dying for."

The cheeky smile faded on Hawke's face to be replaced by an appealing, wide-eyed look of surprise. "What? Who? ... _Me_?"

Fenris only nodded, bowing his head to the rogue.

"Yeah, right," Hawke scoffed. "Pull the other one, it's longer."

"I am not jesting, Hawke."

Hawke blinked a few times, then licked his lips, plainly lost for words. "Well..." he cleared his throat. "I much rather be someone worth living for, to tell you the truth."

"I can do that."

"Fuck it upside down and sidewise, Fenris..."

"That as well."

The tall human shot him a narrow-eyed look. "You just want me for my body," he accused, then winced. "That sounded so conceited."

Fenris leaned close, half climbing on the bed, his lips hovering over the pulse point at the base of Hawke's neck. The vein started fluttering, and a deep breath escaped Hawke in a shocked gasp as Fenris nuzzled against his flesh. "You want me too."

"Not just your body," Hawke's voice was soft, while the last words was dragged into a little breathless moan, as Fenris' tongue came out to taste his skin. "I never wanted _just_ your body."

"What did you want, Hawke?" Fenris voice dropped an octave, making gooseflesh appear on the rogue's arms. Sinfully soft and gravely at the same time, rich and decadent like molten chocolate- that voice could make Hawke's whole body tremble, and Fenris knew it.

"Your love," the human breathed, his breath already starting to pant. "But..."

"You have _that_. I am yours." Fenris interrupted, nuzzling his nose against Hawke's neck, taking in the unique scent that was Hawke; leather, musk and a hint of something spicy.

"That would be so amazing- if only it were true." Hawke turned his head to other side, sighing. The movement both rejected the caress and gave Fenris more access at the same time.

"It is."

"Prove it then," Hawke challenged, while his body relaxing further against Fenris', his neck craning more. "Tell me you love me. Look at me in the eyes and tell me."

Fenris drew back, regarded him intently for a few seconds, then his eyes slid away, an expression of self-hate and disappointment on his handsome features.

"It is...difficult."

"Because you don't feel it, and you don't do lies. Fenris," Hawke pulled back, straightening the sheet over his chest, avoiding Fenris' eyes. "I know you, my bristly elf."

"You know nothing."

Hawke huffed and shot him a small look of frustration. "Any chance you might start speaking in sentences that contain more than three words? This is getting tiresome."

"How is this then?" Fenris pushed back on Hawke's torso, until he was nearly straddling him but keeping his distance carefully, wary of his injuries-both the physical and the emotional ones. He slid his hand at the back of Hawke's head, who was left staring him with eyes as wide as dinner plates and his mouth opened in little shocked gasp. "Every day without you is acute torture. I crave your touch, your smiles, your laugh. Your presence by my side. Your juvenile attempts at humour. When you laugh, happiness courses though me; when I see you sad, my insides clench. My heart is living outside my body- I see you walk and it is my very heart walking. My heart, my life, my soul, living outside my body, firmly in your grasp. Running around the city, engaging in battles, getting hurt-all I can do is watch because you obstinately refuse to believe me. I. AM. YOURS."

Shaken by this unprecedented outpour of emotion, he touched his forehead to Hawke's for a second, then hid his head in his neck, shaking slightly. It had felt good, getting it all out of him- releasing, liberating, right. Amazingly terrifying, as well.

Hawke drew a deep shuddering breath, then his arms climbed up to hold Fenris, slipping around his waist. "I want to believe you. Maker, I want to, so much!"

"Then I beg of you, do. End this misery."

One desperate, tight hug, before Hawke's arms fell away. "I can't," he said, his voice broken. "Maker help me, I can't. I'm sorry..." A heartfelt sigh wracked his frame and Fenris raised shocked eyes to see those luminous mercury-coloured eyes full of tears. "Fenris, I'm sorry. I...I'm a horrible person."

"You are all that is good that remains in this world," he leaned in to kiss away the tear that was almost spilling over his lashes on the uninjured side of Hawke's face. "All that is worth living and dying for. Never say that again."

"I hound you for years," Hawke blinked the tears away, "and when you're finally ready to tell me all the things I ever wanted to hear...I can't believe you. I do really belong in a cell with Bartrand."

"After the way I treated you, Hawke? I'm astounded you are willing to give me the time of day."

Hawke's hand climbed up to touch Fenris face, tenderly, fearfully. The elf closed his eyes against the tenderness of the caress, sighed and nuzzled into his palm. The hand stilled, then withdrew, leaving behind a sense of loss and dismissal.

"Forgiving and forgetting is not the same. I have forgiven you. Forgetting...is a whole different ball game. I... I need more time."

Fenris drew back, visibly disappointed. "I can do that...I understand. But...don't take forever, Hawke."

Hawke looked at him intently for a few minutes, then started snickering. "Oh, Maker...who could have imagined. Irony is such a bitch, isn't it? You are the one running after me, now, and waiting and hoping...next thing you know I'll start brooding in your place."

"You, Hawke? Highly implausible."

"Oh, spare me the verbose vocabulary," Hawke hid his regret behind a smile. "It's ironic and you know it."

Fenris smiled his crooked little half smile, tongue in cheek. "Succinctly put, Hawke...that it is, my ...friend. That it is."

Hawke smiled again, before tossing him the jar of ointment from the bedside table. "Now, nurse Fenris...pamper me."

"You spoilt little horror..."

"Ah, you love me and you know it."

"Indeed, I do, Hawke."

An eye roll that made the rogue wince, but didn't touch the little teasing smile on his lips."Just say it, already."

A full blown smile graced Fenris' lips. "To put it in Varric's words...fat chance."

* * *

Just two weeks later, Hawke was back on his feet, running around the city, doing quests and taking care of any minor or major problem that arose in the City. The mage and templar animosity was reaching new heights, causing the young Champion of Kirkwall stress and worry that he tried to hide; but Fenris, always by his side, always vigilant for anything that might upset him, couldn't help but notice.

For the first time, he could _see_ Hawke, his worries, the little lines of stress around his smiling mouth, the tension that made his spine rigid, the weight on his shoulders. Hawke could no longer hide from him- admitting to himself that he loved the rogue had opened up Fenris' heart and soul, and for the first time since the day he met him, he really _knew_ Hawke.

The rogue didn't speak about his worries, just like he never had in the past; he took care of business with a cheeky smile on his face and calm, assured determination. A sense of right and wrong that Fenris could never have imagined ran so deep was now clearly visible in his eyes, guiding him. In the past, Fenris had thought that Hawke's decisions were random, spur of the moment impulses. In the past, he had failed to understand what had driven Hawke. He had thought that his decisions were sometimes foolhardy, a result of a naive will to help everybody, an I'll-do-what-want-and-the-hell-with-it attitude.

But now he _saw_. Hawke did what he did because this was _his_ City, the city where the people he loved lived in. And there was nothing Hawke wouldn't do for the people he loved, to keep them safe. There was nothing Hawke wouldn't do to make Kirkwall a better place- not for him, never for him. For the people he loved.

And the damned rogue loved everyone. Every little urchin on the street, every stuffy, annoying noble. The elves down at the Alienage, that gave him distrustful looks when he went by. The disgruntled, almost dehumanized refuges in Darktown. Everyone. He loved Kirkwall. His sister lived there, his friends, his dog. His mother's grave was in Kirkwall. His life was in Kirkwall. It was where he had met Fenris, where he had fallen in love, where his heart had been broken; he knew every nook and cranny and loved this ugly, ungrateful bitch of a city with all his heart.

Kirkwall was going to the blazes, and Hawke was unable to stop its wildly spiralling path into mayhem. Caught as he was between templars and mages, unassisted by a reluctant, neutralist Grand Cleric, his position became a juggling act that got increasingly difficult. The strain was taking its toll; for the first time, Fenris could see his inner turmoil, his constant worry. For the first time, he _noticed_. How had Hawke managed it so far, all alone, this huge weight on his shoulders? How had he managed to laugh and smile, when all this responsibility had been heaped on his shoulders?

Maker, the rogue had barely seen eighteen summers when he had first arrived in Kirkwall, and was named Champion before anyone had time to blink. How had his young shoulders never sagged under all that weight?

New respect rose in his heart; it fed his love for the man, made it burn brighter and hotter, until it was a constant fire in his veins. Fear made his nights a torture; fear that something might happen to his Hawke, that in the end, the one that would pay the price for keeping everybody safe would be his smiling rogue.

Fenris learned another thing about love those past two weeks: love was more than shared intimacy, smiles and being there. Love was also worry and fear, fear that you might lose the one that made your heart beat; fear that love might be taken away. It was almost paralysing, incapacitating. But Fenris had resolved never to be a coward again, never to hide from his own feelings; he dealt with this new sense of fear in a way he had never attempted before: he talked about it.

Hawke had just sat there, a bottle of wine in his hand, his eyes wide and confused, his hand scratching the new scar along his strong jaw line absentmindedly, as Fenris talked to him about how he felt. He didn't crack any jokes, not this time.

"Blight take me," he just said at the end, his eyes luminous, his hands not quite steady. "You really do _that_ me, then?"

Fenris could do nothing but chuckle, relieved to have taken the weight of his confused emotions off his chest. "I do _that_ you," he said, his eyes soft. "A great deal."

Hawke just sighed, then looked away. He had to clear his throat twice before speaking. "It's good to know," he just said in the end.

Hesitantly, with blushing cheeks, he started talking next, his voice soft in the dimly lit room, confiding his fears and worries to Fenris, telling him of how many times he had spend sleepless, worrying of what might be happening to his sister in the Circle, or about the rising tensions on the City. He shared his anger and frustration at the fact that the Grand Cleric seemed to want to leave anything in the Maker's hands, how alone in trying to keep peace in the city he sometimes felt. How he sometimes felt like he was the only sane person in the this Maker-forsaken place, how he sometimes thought he was keeping the whole situation from escalating to a full blown war by the skin of his teeth.

He broke Fenris' heart by saying that he had sometimes thought that all he was good for, all he had ever been born for, was to fight and die so that Kirkwall was safe.

"I never wanted to become a Champion," he said, looking intently at the fire. "But I am. I'm not a very good one, I'm afraid- in fact...I'm crappy at this whole championing deal."

"Kirkwall is lucky to have you," Fenris answered. "You are too good for it."

A smile answered him- a wry, self-mocking smirk. "Bullshit. I stumbled into the whole mess- and now there's no way out for me...So I smile and laugh and hope my best is good enough...there's nothing else I can fucking do."

His next words made Fenris' insides freeze with fear and foreboding.

"Champions always die young, Fenris."

Love, Fenris learned, was shared fears; love was fearing for someone else's wellbeing more than you did for yours. Love was being scared out of your wits for them.

It was love's job to be fearful, Fenris now knew...and yet, fearless as well. As they sat together that night, talking in low, intimate voices late into the night, he realised one more thing too: nothing could give you more courage than fear of losing someone you loved.

He got a soft touch on his cheek that night, before Hawke left.

Yes. Love was fear, he thought as his fingers caressed the spot Hawke had touched so briefly. Fear that made you brave.

_How odd._


	16. Chapter 16

He didn't know what had happened; one minute he was practising in his derelict mansion and the next he was coming to from what had seemed like a very deep, very dark sleep, Hawke's frantic face above him. A vaguely familiar mage in a horrid hat stood nearby, clutching his bloody wrist. Cullen was standing at the side, a tight frown on his face.

The stench of death- recent, violent death- was thick in the air, as Fenris blinked, then tried to move, his body feeling strangely stiff.

"What in the name of the Maker happened here, Hawke?" Cullen grabbed onto the rogue's forearm, but he jerked out of his grip, and focused on Fenris again.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft, but shaken. Fenris managed to give a nod, his voice still not working.

"Hawke!" Cullen insisted. "There are dead templars here! Dead mages! What happened?"

"They took Fenris," Hawke rose on his feet, looking at the Knight-Captain with rage smouldering in his eyes, that had turned a stormy, pewter gray. "They thought they could influence me to help them...But that crazy bitch, Grace...she had another agenda."

"Maker, Hawke!" Cullen gritted through clenched teeth. "How am I going to explain this to the Knight-Commander?"

Hawke gave Fenris his hand, and clutching to the rogue's strong forearm, he managed to get back on his feet. He wobbled for a moment, and Hawke stepped in to support him, putting an arm around his shoulders with a natural, instinctive ease. He shot the Knight-Captain an irritated look.

"I've had it up to here," he made a curt gesture, indicating his forehead, "with templars, and mages, and the Knight-Commander. Up. To. Here. The templars want me on their side, so Meredith sends me all over town to hunt down blood mages so I can see with my own eyes how dangerous they are. As if I didn't know. I've killed more of them in the past six years than you all have in a lifetime. You'd all shit your pretty little templar skirts if you went up ahead the things I have."

Cullen made a move to say something, but Hawke interrupted him, holding up a hand.

"The mages want me on their side too. So they kidnap one of my own to make me listen to them, but when I try to, they go MAWHAHAHAHA! and attack me. Everyone is this city has lost their fucking marbles, it seems. You all want my help, but none of you trust me. I don't know about you, Cullen, but I see a nice little sign with 'sacrificial victim' written on it, and everyone wants to hang it around my neck."

He slipped his other arm around Fenris' waist, as the elf's knees threatened to give out on him, and supported him better. "Tell Meredith that if she thinks I will sit back and watch her and Orsino burn this city to the ground, she's a few screams short of an orgasm. Use these words exactly," he said, as Varric snickered a little further off, " and tell Orsino to _take care_ of it."

Fenris' lips curled into a little smile against his will as Hawke guided him to a nearby boulder, and then helped him sit down. A flask of water was handed to him, and he smiled at the rogue as he lifted it to his mouth.

"That was...eloquent, Hawke," he drawled sarcastically.

The human's eyes flashed at him. "I'm not done!" he hissed. "I'm cheesed off at you too, you dope! How could you let them take you like that? I had at least expected a fight!"

"I will endeavour to do so, next time, then," Fenris drawled.

Hawke's eyes were narrowed at him- his arms were crossed on his chest and he radiated anger; but Fenris could see a little hint of fear in his eyes as well, so he lowered his tone into a gravely, intimate octave.

"I am perfectly fine, Hawke. You need not fear for me."

Hawke's face tightened into a scowl. With the hood he had taken to wearing over his close shaven head, the eye patch he wore to protect his still recovering eye and the new angry looking scar on his handsome face, Hawke looked like someone not to be crossed; the darkly menacing scowl was making the impression even more pronounced.

"Fold it over lengthwise and shove it where the sun don't shine, Fenris. I'm not afraid for you. What I want to hear is that you will not allow yourself to be taken again. "

Fenris' eyes softened at the irate look on Hawke's face. He feared for his well-being, and that was love, he knew that now.

"Don't just sit there and give me puppy eyes, you damned, blighted...Ugnn!" Hawke threw his hands in the air and stalked off with an irritated huff. Fenris saw him kick a crate a few times until it splintered into pieces in the distance, muttering and cursing, while he took small sips from the water flask.

"What did you do to him?" Sebastian approached him, looking at Hawke with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing. He was just scared on my behalf, and is just now realising what that means."

"What?"

"That he can't live without me," Fenris answered, a small smile on his face.

Sebastian watched as Cullen again approached Hawke, only to be yelled at some more and be given a rude hand gesture.

He smiled too. "Nothing makes you realise how much you love someone than coming close to losing them," he sagely said in his deep Starkhaven burr.

" _Precisely_ ," Fenris said.

Sebastian gave him a nod, signalling that he understood. They both sat there, watching Hawke, until Sebastian turned to him with a smile. "How long until he loses the eye patch?"

"Maker only knows, with Hawke..." Fenris sighed. "He enjoys the startled looks, I gather."

"At least he never made true of his threat to buy a parrot."

Fenris only hummed in agreement. "He has too much on his shoulders," he reluctantly said in the end. "Some frivolity can be forgiven him."

"Indeed," Sebastian agreed. "Ander has been behaving strangely, have you noticed?"

"He came to Hawke for help with a potion he intends to make," Fenris provided. "Some feeble attempt to separate himself from his 'spirit', or so I understood. We were supposed to be helping him gather his components, before this," he gestured around him, "happened. I do not trust his motives, but you know Hawke; he would never deny a friend in need."

Varric approached them at that moment. He gave Hawke, who was still ranting at Cullen, a confused look, then he settled on the rock himself.

"What got Hawke's knickers in a twist?" he asked.

"Love," Sebastian just answered.

"Eek," Varric winced. "Tough one. I never touch the stuff. For what's it worth, Elf, I have my money riding on a happy ending."

"You bet on us?" Fenris turned to the dwarf with a scowl.

"Sure did. Isabela said he would never forgive you, and I think he will. Aveline even joined in."

"For or against me?"

"Against."

Fenris gave the tall ex-prince a questioning look. Sebastian had the good grace to blush, before looking at his boots. "Gambling is a sin," he mumbled.

" _Sebastian_."

"Alright, alright. Five sovereigns. Don't make me lose."

Hawke returned to them then, and gave Sebastian a questioning look, noting his blushing face.

"Spit and damnation," he said. "We have to go meet Meredith, explain this fucked-up beyond-all-recognition business to her, before she decides all the mages need to join the Maker. Ah, crap, I think I'm getting too old for this shit."

As they started down the winding path that led out of the Wounded Coast- Varric to the front and Sebastian right after him- he pulled Fenris back by his forearm, then nuzzled into his neck for a few brief moments. Fenris thought he felt a slight touch of his lips on his skin, before he drew back.

"Scare me like this again," Hawke gruffly said, "and I'll skin your glowy hide."

Despite the threat, and Hawke's bad-tempered manner, Fenris was left with a small smile on his face.

Love, he was beginning to find out, could be expressed with much more than smiles, kisses and intimate interludes. Love could be a smouldering angry look, a partner screaming in your face in anger over something stupid you had done, or threats.

He was surprised once more; love was not what he had thought. It changed everything, how you perceived the world around you, what kind of impression people made on you. It could blind you or open your eyes to a whole new world of empathy and understanding.

Love made you behave like a fool; it also made you wiser.

_How absolutely peculiar._

* * *

As if the trouble with the mages-templar conflict weren't enough, as if being constantly frustrated with the way Hawke continued to distrust him and keep him at a distance wasn't already taxing his patience, this had to happen.

Zevran was back in town.

Fenris glared at the blond assassin, as he sat next to Hawke and wrapped an arm cordially around the rogue's shoulders, smiling winsomely. Hawke lifted his head and gave the elf a small smile, then took a gulp of his ale, wincing at the taste. Fenris couldn't help but detest the stab of jealousy he felt at Hawke's easy acceptance of the Antivan's touch; _venhedis_ , Hawke was his. What right did the damned whoreson had to touch his Hawke? What possessed Hawke to allow it?

Shaking his head to clear the murderous, insanely jealous thoughts from his mind, he clenched his fists under the table and lowered his head so he wouldn't have to watch. Hawke laughed at something the blond elf said, and it made that tight coil of possessive rage tighten even further inside the elven warrior.

"Ah, it is a shame, _mio bello_ ," Zevran was saying. "Your eyes are among the prettiest things I have ever seen. So...Argggh?"

"Drink up me hearties, yo-ho-ho!" Hawke smiled. "I am so getting a parrot, one of these days."

Fenris head shot up, as he heard the next words the assassin uttered. "I have half a mind to plunder your booty, my outrageously sexy friend."

Hawke tilted his head to the side. "My booty as in 'hoard', or my _booty_?"

Zevran leaned in even further, until his lips were a ghosting over Hawke's. Fenris could see a hand trailing up the human's muscular thigh. "Your _booty_ is treasure enough for any buccaneer,' the Antivan drawled seductively. "Just say the word, and pirate Zevran will report for duty."

"Hawke," Fenris couldn't help but speak the rogue's name.

The rogue's face turned to him, and Fenris saw a little malicious glint of pleasure in Hawke's eyes, and an unspoken challenge. Jealousy raged inside him, but he kept his face carefully blank, his stoic expression a mask just as well-practised as Hawke's smiles.

"Yes, Fenris?" Hawke asked politely, his voice saccharine. "Was there something you wanted?"

Fenris just looked at him, his brows knit together, his body held rigidly still. Inside, there was maelstrom of emotions; rage, jealousy, possessiveness. Pain. Was Hawke really contemplating the assassin's offer? Did the past few weeks mean nothing to him?

Hawke drew his eyes away, but not before Fenris saw another cruel little glint of pleasure in his eyes. He was going to accept the Antivan's offer, he realised at that moment, just to spite him.

And indeed, Hawke turned to the blond assassin, smiling cheekily. "Word," he just told Zevran, who winked and smiled seductively. "Prepared to be boarded, then," the elf said, and slammed his mug down on the table.

Fenris lowered his head not to see them go, his heart torn to ribbons.

Love he was finding out, was possession; but not like any other of your possessions. It meant knowing that you couldn't live with the object of your desire- and the sight of someone else taking it away from you was as someone had sucked out all the air from your lungs, like someone had drained all the blood from your veins that your heart needed to keep beating.

Jealousy raised its ugly head, and rage flooded him; love was furious when it was scorned. He wondered how Hawke had done it, watching him leave in the middle of the night so long ago, and then waiting for him for three long years.

A hand landed on his back, and he realised it was Varric, trying to console him. He flinched away, then got up on unsteady legs. From somewhere deep inside him, overriding the pain and the anger, a though came to him out of the blue: _maybe...Zevran would do Hawke good. Maybe he was just what the rogue needed._

He caught himself wishing that Hawke would be happy, even if it meant being with someone else.

And that was how Hawke had done it- and _this_ was love.

_Damn it. How infuriating._

* * *

After about four hours of trying in vain to get sloshed and failing, Fenris got up and made it to Hawke's house. Not even bothering to knock, he barged in, fully determined to kill that whoreson that had dared touch his Hawke, and to give the human a piece of his mind. He had gotten more and more angry as he'd been walking here- now he was fuming, ready to kill someone.

He fervently wished Zevran was still here.

The door banged on the wall as he burst in, and then he lost all his momentum at the image he saw.

Hawke was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked down to his waist. He was bent almost in half, his head and his arms hanging down between his legs. As Fenris erupted into the room, he jerked upright, then he sat back down, a chill running down his spine.

"Fenris," he acknowledged the elf. "And I was wondering when –if- you'd show up."

"Where is that whoreson of yours?"

"Zevran?" Hawke raised his mercurial gray eyes up to his face. "He's gone."

"Over so soon, then?"

Hawke just nodded. "Was he a good lay?" Fenris sneered, and Hawke jerked as if he had been slapped.

"It's time for the hair shirt and the flail?" he asked. "Come on, let me have it."

Fenris looked at the rogue's bowed head, the tension making his slick muscles stand out.

"Did you do it deliberately? To hurt me?"

Hawke's head whipped up. "Did I? Hurt you?"

"Yes."

A small tightening of Hawke's lips before he looked away, shame in his eyes. "No...I didn't. Not to hurt you... I think."

"Then why?" Fenris took a menacing step forward, anger vibrating his body; anger and deep, slashing pain. His voice was low, guttural. "Your answer implies you did do it deliberately. But for what purpose?"

Hawke closed his eyes. "I wanted to see if you would try to stop me."

Shock robbed Fenris of his next breath. "You were expecting me to..."

"You say you love me," Hawke's mouth twisted in a small morose smile. "Well...not say it exactly...but you profess it, anyway. You see another man propositioning me, see me get up to leave with him. I thought you'd do something, say something to stop me. But you didn't."

"And that has convinced you that what I have professed to feel is a lie."

"Isn't it?" Hawke rubbed a hand against his forehead. "And here I am again, always the fool, always the naive, hopeless little idiot. I had actually started to believe that..." A bitter chuckle escaped him. "Hope is dumb. We should stomp on it till it croaks and feed it to the dogs."

Fenris grabbed him by his forearms and pushed him back. "Idiot!" he hissed, his teeth clenched tight in a vain effort to contain his effort. "Have you no brains? Has it never occurred to you that we might not have the same preconceived notions about relationships? What do I know of all this, Hawke?" he shook the rogue for good measure, and the human's eyes locked with his, apprehension making them darken. "Has it never crossed your mind that I do not know what is expected of me? How to deal with what I feel?"

His hands tightened around Hawke's arms, as they stared deep into each other's eyes. "You're hurting me," Hawke winced, and Fenris let go with a growl. He kicked the side of the bed viciously a few times, the pain in his bare toes making his anger flame even higher. " _Visthente kaffas_!" he groaned then took hold of his hair and yanked hard, frustrated out of his mind, furiously angry, hurt beyond imagining.

"Fenris," a hand touched his back, and he flinched away. "I am sorry. For what is worth...we didn't do anything. I couldn't. He just touched me a little, and then I told him to go."

All his breath left Fenris' lungs with a whoosh. "Now you tell me?"

"I'm sorry," Hawke stepped even closer, his naked chest now in contact with the elf's back. "Calm down. I'm sorry."

Fenris shot him a look behind his back, and immediately noticed the already darkening bruises on the rogue's biceps. He immediately turned back to face Hawke again, wincing. "I hurt you. I apologise."

"I hurt you too," Hawke's hand slipped up his neck to cup his cheek. "Forgive me."

Fenris tried to pull away. "Talk to me, Hawke. Tell me why. Help me understand. I saw your eyes as he was propositioning you, when you said yes; you knew you were hurting me, and you enjoyed it. Why?"

The hand that had now entangled in his hair refused to let him go. "I...I don't know."

And then Hawke leaned in and kissed him, his lips so soft on his, his tongue hot and wet and demanding. Fenris didn't even have to think to allow him entrance- he was so starved for it, so hungry. Hawke's taste flooded his mouth and he moaned low in his chest, the sound rumbling.

The kiss was slow, raw, passionate. It was explanatory, like a first kiss, sweeter than honey, headier than the best wine. No other part of their bodies was touching, other than their mouths and the hand that Hawke had tightened in his hair but it felt like making love, like a full bodied caress, like the most intimate of acts. That kiss, that breathless, moan-filled exploration of lips and tongues felt more fulfilling than hours of bed play. Fenris melted in it, until he thought that the only thing keeping him grounded was Hawke's hand in his hair; Hawke lost himself in it, forgot everything, even his own name.

When they pulled back, Hawke's eyes had darkened to stormy, pewter gray, and Fenris was nearly trembling from head to toe.

"It doesn't matter what was going through my mind," Hawke dismissed Fenris' previous question. "It doesn't matter. All that is important is that...I couldn't. It felt wrong. Keep that, and forget the rest."

"I should have stopped you," Fenris nipped another small kiss on the corner of Hawke's mouth, his mind reeling with the amazing pleasure of being allowed to kiss that pouty mouth again. "I should have broken both his legs, that blighted..."

"It wasn't his fault," Hawke moaned into the kiss and his hand dropped to Fenris' waist, just above the dip of his spine, where his belt circled low on his hips. Realising where his hand had wandered, he pulled back, a startled look on his face.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, studying the sudden panicky look on the rogue's face. "It appears," that it was not just with the Antivan that you have that particular issue," he said, bitterness making his voice gritty. "Does it also feel wrong with me?"

"No," Hawke sat down on the bed again, and his shoulders slumped forward as he lowered his head. "It feels right. Too right. It can't be true."

"Why not?" Fenris was puzzled now as he sat next to the rogue.

"Nothing good ever happens to me," Hawke tilted his head to the side and regarded him with a small sad smile.

"No?" Fenris looked around him, to the nicely furnished, rich room, the array of expensive daggers and well-made suits of armour on the wall and on the armour stands.

"Things," Hawke shrugged. "Just things...nothing important. The fates keep rewarding me for what I have lost with wealth and titles and useless... _things_. I lose my brother, I find a new home. I get rich at the Deep Roads, I lose my sister. My mother dies," he closed his eyes on that gruesome memory, "I become the Champion."

He looked around, his shoulders sagging even more. "I lose you, I get a proposal to become Viscount."

"WHAT?" Fenris' eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Hawke gave him a crooked smile. "The correct answer here would be to concentrate on the first part of the sentence, Fenris."

Fenris drew in a deep breath. "Wh..? Hawke! Answer me! You have been asked to become Viscount?"

A pair of sad eyes looked at him, then Hawke stood up and walked to his desk where a serving tray with glasses and bottles was waiting. He poured himself a stiff drink, then he turned to Fenris. "A coalition of nobles wants to put my name forward, yes. Want some? Varric says it puts hair on your chest."

Fenris looked at him, puzzled with his dejected tone, and then his earlier words registered, and he gasped. The matter of the Viscount proposition was instantly forgotten. "You haven't lost me Hawke."

Hawke raised his glass to his mouth and tossed back the entire contents of the glass in one gulp. He hissed and coughed a little, then refilled it. "Yes, because you _that_ me..." he laughed, bitterly this time, and he looked at the elf with a mocking smile. "I haven't lost you, you're right. I never had you."

Fenris got on his feet and approached him, taking the glass out of his hand and tossing it across the wall, where it shattered into a million pieces. "Hey, I was drinking that!" Hawke complained, but without any real force behind the protest.

"You drink entirely too much. You only have one kidney, remember?"

Hawke grabbed another glass. "I survived those first few days after..." he shook his head. "I'll live."

A hand covered his and he stood there looking at it, his glass half-way to his mouth. "What do you mean 'survived'?" Fenris murmured. "I know that you...went to the Rose. I know you got this," he pointed to his tattoo. "I know... that you..."

"Slit my wrists? Bodahn saved me," Hawke said, his jaw clenching and then he untied the leather bands he had taken to wearing around his wrists, to show Fenris horribly scarred, deep slashes. "I got tied down, whipped, and fucked so brutally that I was bleeding for weeks. And I paid for that too, hahaha. What else do you want to know?" He looked at his own torso, missing the horrified, stunned look on Fenris' face. "Ah, yes. I got this tattoo. The man that gave it to me asked me what I wanted, and I said a dragon. And that wizened old bastard just smiled at me and gave me this. If you look at it from a certain angle, though..."

"It's a wolf, ready to devour your heart. I know."

"You're crying." Hawke said, softly wiping a tear from Fenris' face with the pad of his thumb. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I should be whipped."

"I'll give you Rey's room number at the Rose. He's good at it. Didn't leave any marks."

"Hawke...," a shudder went through Fenris' body. "Please. I can't bear thinking...I'll kill him for touching you, please stop this. Stop tormenting me."

A hand rose to push the white bangs of hair that were shading his face out of his eyes. "It still hurts, remembering," Hawke said, his fingers lingering over Fenris' ear. "I went a little crazy, I think...Maker, Fenris... _worse than Danarius_?" his voice broke with remembered pain, and he turned abruptly away, ashamed of the tears that had sprang to his eyes. "Of all the things you said that day... that...killed me."

"Hawke..."

"And then I came to apologise, because I had fully believed I was a monster, that I had forced you somehow...and you..." Hawke's head bowed. "I pray you never have to learn what it feels like, realising that someone you love hates you so much."

" _Hawke_."

"No. Please. Let me finish. Let me say it once, let me get it all out."

"Hit me if you must," Fenris embraced Hawke from behind, twining his arms around his waist and squeezing as tightly as he could, begging the rogue to stop with the full-bodied tremble that rocked his lanky length. "Command me to pull my own heart out. Just...no more."

"I need to," Hawke was relentless, but his hands came up to entwine with Fenris'. "I just realised how much I need to tell you this. You are right. I wanted to hurt you today. I saw you suffering and it made me glad. I...have to let this out. It's consuming me, I have to... If you ever cared anything for me, hear me out."

Fenris slipped his fingers between Hawke's and just held him, resting his head against the rogue's muscular back. Something inside him was screaming that he had to stop Hawke, that what he was about to hear would nearly kill him.

But... Hawke needed to speak. And Fenris had no choice but to be there, and listen.

"I...wanted to die. I slit my wrists. Took a razor and cut and the damned mabari startled howling; Bodahn found me, and I don't know...he found a healer, perhaps. I tried again, and then that damned dwarf camped out in my room along with Sandal. I thought I'd go crazy, having to hear him say 'enchantment' with that scared little voice of his. I started drinking, until they threw all my alcohol away. I think I blacked out at some point." Hawke's fingers tightened even more around Fenris'. "I kept hearing your voice, calling me a monster, calling me a rapist. Holy dimpled buttcheeks of Andraste, a _rapist_? And then your voice telling me that you'd never wanted me, that you'd been brought back by...by her."

Fenris' arms clenched around Hawke's waist, holding tightly, his eyes closed, his body vibrating. Every sentence the rogue was uttering brought terrifying, painful images unfurling in his mind, making his whole body vibrate with tension. "No more, I beg of you," he groaned.

"I escaped them at some point, I think," Hawke's voice was soft, but his speech urgent, like these words wanted to escape so badly that nothing could hold them back, like he hadn't even heard Fenris. "I went to the Rose. They asked me what I wanted and I answered 'pain'. They gave me Rey. He laughed while...It hurt. I won't lie. And yet...all I could think was that I...I deserved whatever he did to me."

"Oh, Maker, _Gabriel_..."

Hawke twirled around in his arms, his eyes widening. He brought a hand up to trail his finger in the path another tear had left on Fenris' skin, a tear Fenris had no idea had escaped him, caught in the anguished image of Hawke dead, a pool of his own blood spreading around him, of him tied to a bed while a sick, psychotic man brutalised him. "You're crying again," he softly said to the elf, then bent down to kiss the salty drop away. He swallowed down the knot forming in his throat. "Say my name, again."

"Gabriel."

"Again. _Please_. Once more."

"Gabriel. _My Gabriel_."

Hawke's lips started trembling and he hid his head in the crook of Fenris' neck. "Be warned: I'm going to start crying now," he choked, "and if you stop me, or mention it to anyone, I swear I will gut you and make sausages out of your entrails."

"Hawke?" Fenris tensed up. The first sob wracked the tall rogue's frame and Fenris' heart lurched at the sound, at the way his shoulders started shaking. Sudden realisation hit him. "All this time...you've kept all this inside?"

A deep shuddering breath answered him, and another choked sob. "Shut up, you jerk!" Hawke's hand tightened into a fist, and he banged it with all his strength against Fenris' chest. "Bastard! You ripped me apart, you sick fuck!"

"Shh..." Fenris withstood the punches, feeling as if they were hammering against his very heart. He realised this was the last of the anger, this was the last of the resentment and the hurt, battling to come out, and valiantly gave himself over to Hawke's uncontrollable outbreak. "I have you. Let it all out."

"Don't tell me what to do, you shithead!" Hawke wailed, then his fist fell limply by his side. Another sob and his another punch against Fenris' chest. "Let go off me!"

"Never," Fenris said, then hid his own head in the crook of Hawke's neck, and endured, as the sight of the rogue's grief made his heart bleed. He had to hold on tightly, as Hawke raged and continued hitting him, trying desperately to get away, trying to hide the sight of his tears; he wouldn't let him.

Love, he found out, was not the gentle, warm feeling of fairytales; love was cruel, almost brutal. It was suffering while the person you loved suffered. It was hurting ten times more at the sight of someone else's pain.

Love was a brutal master; it tolerated no rivals. If there was hate in your heart, it pushed it out. If there was anger, it defeated it, often with just a gentle word, or a loving smile- and if that didn't work then it dealt with it like this: with futile, powerless punches, with wracking sobs and months of pain all released at once. If there was any trace of resentment, it purged it; if there was pain, it pushed it out in the street, kicking and screaming, until there was room in your heart for nothing but love.

He held on to Hawke as the rogue let the anger, bitterness and pain of long months out, soaking Fenris' skin with his tears. Love lashed like a cruel hand holding a whip- it demanded that all this pent up hurt was released, so it could take its rightful place. It was like an emetic- it purged your system of poisons: old hurts, bitterness and mistrust.

_How exhausting...and yet...how remarkable._


	17. Chapter 17

"Tell me it was a dream," a voice groaned and Fenris woke abruptly up, blinking to clear his eyes. He raised his head from the pillow to see Hawke with his arm over his eyes, half naked on the bed next to him. Memory returned, to inform him that they had at some point fallen on the bed together, Hawke alternating between heart- clenching bouts of sadness and moments of intense anger all through the night.

Another arm covered Hawke's eyes, and he let out a mortified groan, cursing under his breath. "Oh, fuck..." he groaned again. "Tell me I didn't."

Fenris chose to remain silent. In a movement that was still alien and surprising to him, his one hand rose to caress Hawke's side, as if on its own, offering what Fenris had little experience in: comfort.

Hawke flinched away and then turned over and buried his head in the pillow. "Fuck. I really did, didn't I? I cried like a baby. Get me a paper bag, will you? No way I'm showing my face again."

"You needed it," Fenris reluctantly said and Hawke flinched again. "I admire you for it, Hawke, that you can let your emotions out like that. It is a rare gift, and one that preserves your sanity. I wish I were capable of it."

Another groan answered him.

Fenris hand rose on its own again, and trailed down the rogue's muscular back. "I have come to learn that emotions that are repressed only poison your soul in the long-term, Hawke," he insisted. "Come, show your face to me."

"When monkeys fly out of my butt," Hawke mumbled in the pillow.

"Don't be obstinate, Hawke," Fenris' lip started twitching in what wanted to become a smile. "We need to check your eye. All that crying must have irritated it."

Hawke buried his head even further in the pillow and groaned again. "Rub salt in it, won't you? Oh, Maker, what a pathetic little fool you must think me now."

A chuckle escaped Fenris at that moment. Hawke seemed to try and melt into the mattress at the sound of it. "Shit, you're laughing at me."

Fenris sighed. "I am not. Just at how like a little simpering princess you're behaving. Come, Hawke, be a man."

An angry face shot up from the pillow. Fenris took in the puffed, red eyes, the lines that tears had left on Hawke's face, and started roaring with laughter; he could not help it. All the while, Hawke just lay there, looking at him, his face furiously angry, his eyes vulnerable. Fenris' almost hysterical laughter was stopped by a mouthful of pillow as the rogue slammed it against his face.

"My threat stands," Hawke said, glowering at him. "If you tell anyone, _anyone_ , about this, I will gut you, skin you, and craft a vest out of your thick hide. I'm serious."

The only possible answer that Fenris could give was to roll his eyes- and suddenly a pillow hit him again smack in the face.

The only thing he found to do to react was to toss his own pillow into Hawke's face- the rogue gave him a comical look of surprise before his face split by a winsome, cheerful smile, and he threw his head back, laughing.

"You want a pillow fight, then?" Hawke asked, his eyes shining with a playful, mischievous light. "Challenge accepted. Bring it on."

Love was light heartedness and idle horsing around, Fenris learned that morning. Love was behaving out of character, doing things that seemed alien to you just because the joy in your heart needed an outlet, needed a way to come out. Now he understood why people that were in love skipped and danced like fools; now he knew, because he wanted to do the same thing.

The impromptu pillow fight ended when one of the pillows exploded, to fill the very air around them with downy feathers. They stuck to everything, got in their mouths and noses, floated around them like snow. They kissed amidst that feathery white maelstrom, on their knees on Hawke's bed; a soft, gentle kiss, a kiss that was finally free of all misgivings.

They looked into each other's eyes for the longest time after that; each expecting the other to speak and say the magic words that would mark the end of a long, painful road to recovery. But, just as Fenris was finally ready to speak, Hawke's lips twisted into a little mischievous smile- and just like that, it became a challenge, a game: who would break and say it first. Fenris smiled back, and raised one eyebrow, then nodded to Hawke, accepting the challenge with a mischievous glint of his own alighting his green eyes.

Hawke threw his head back and laughed, a glorious, throaty laughter, both his cheeks dimpling, his eyes once again shining like melted silver. It made Fenris lose his breath, the sight of those dimples, hearing his beloved laughter. How long was it since he had seen those dimples? Maker, they were adorable!

Another kiss followed, and another after that, languid, unhurried, totally at ease. Desire made their breaths quicken but none of them wanted to break the magic of the moment with something more physical. In the end, they just lay there, not even speaking, just enjoying each other's company. For Fenris, just the scent and feel of Hawke's skin was enough; just the sound of his breathing as he drifted to sleep again.

It was shocking how little love needed to be content.

He kept having this feeling, like he was watching himself behaving in a totally uncharacteristic way; but he couldn't help it. It felt as if he was having an out-of-body experience, watching himself from afar, and wondering what that expression on his own face was, what that little smile that just wouldn't leave his lips stood for. And then it hit him: for the first time since he could remember, he was happy.

Fenris learned even more about love that morning: love was the glorious sunlight after a monstrous storm. It was a lit hearth at the end of a long, weary trek in the cold, it was a warm dish of soup after being famished. Love was the little things: a smile, a soft caress, the special way your partner had of pronouncing your name. Love was the big things too: devotion, faith, possessiveness, desire.

Love was life, and joy and simple pleasures. Love was death, and fear, and the promise of forever.

_Love...was amazing._

* * *

Despite Fenris' misgivings, Hawke agreed to help Anders; it had incensed the elven warrior, but he had bitten his tongue not to give Hawke a true piece of his mind. Their relationship was still fragile. Fenris fully felt it would not survive a fight, not so soon. He was afraid that resentment and anger would once again rise, and he was loathe to let anything of the kind come between them again. He did give Hawke his opinion on Anders' request to assist him with gathering the ingredients for his improbable potion, nonetheless, and cautioned Hawke that Anders seemed to be hiding something, that he looked shifty and altogether too mysterious.

Fenris' mistrust of mages was too deeply rooted to allow for anything else. Hawke had just given him puppy eyes, and told him that he had to help Anders, he owed the man that much for patching him up after the whole Danarius debacle. Fenris hadn't found something to argue with at that, so, instead, he demanded to go with Hawke; he was not about to leave him alone with the mage. Varric came along too, and riled the blond mage about having to drink a potion that contained crystals form fossilized shit and piss, lightening the tense atmosphere.

Fenris looked at Hawke, carefully stepping over a puddle of something as foul smelling as it was foul of sight, and he smiled back at him.

"Your feet will need a very good scrubbing, Fenris," Hawke made a disgusted expression. "You are not setting foot on my carpets like that."

"You have already pointed that out, Hawke," Fenris grumbled.

"Between the toes, and under the toenails, Fenris," Hawke went on with a cheeky smile. He then leaned in to whisper in his pointed ear, making gooseflesh rise all over his skin. "Or else, I'm never licking those toes of yours again. Like ever."

Fenris' eyes darkened, and his tight leather trousers instantly became a size too tight. Desire roared through him, hardening his body, making his breath hitch. Maker. How long would Hawke torment him like this?

He used his frustration to battle the uncomfortable erection that had started to tent the front of his tight breeches. Hawke wasn't ready- not yet. They had exchanged kisses and soft touches, that had evolved into heavy petting. Last night, they had lain nearly naked on Hawke's bed, only their smallclothes separating them, and kissed until their mouths had felt numb; but once he had tried to sneak his hand into the rogue's smallclothes to touch him more intimately, Hawke had stopped him.

"I'm not ready yet," he had just said. Fenris could understand that and respect his wishes, but his body had protested- he needed Hawke, like he needed air to breathe.

It would have been alright- nothing he couldn't take, because he had been conditioned to control his emotions and his responses to perfection. There were two reasons, though, that made it increasingly difficult: one was love. Once he had owned up to his own feelings, staying away from Hawke had become impossible- his want for him was an almost permanent ache, an all-consuming need.

The second one was that Hawke...was a tease.

The damned rogue kept touching him, often in inappropriate times and uncomfortable situations, as if he was testing him to see when he would snap. And snap he would, soon, if Hawke kept whispering inappropriate things in his ear, or dragging his fingers over his lower back, like he just did, or slipping his hand in his hair. He growled to the rogue, inwardly charmed and warmed by the mischievous light shining in his gray eyes and the ease of his brilliant smile and at the same time bristling with unrelieved tension. It was making him edgy, this tension between them, the fact that Hawke felt like he had the right to touch him anytime he wanted, while he was denied that right.

Maker, he didn't just want to touch the rogue...the things he wanted to do to him were enough to make even Isabela blush if he was of a mind to disclose them.

"Cease doing that, Hawke," he growled low enough not to be overheard. "This is hardly the place nor the time."

"Oh, come on," Hawke pouted a bit. "I need a distraction. How else will I take my mind of the fact that we are traipsing though the condensed muck of every chamber pot in Kirkwall?"

"Ewwww," Varric said behind them. "Look. That steaming pile of shit over there. It looks and smells like Seneschal Bran."

Hawke made a gagging sound. "Anders, you owe me. Big time."

The mage emerged from a side tunnel, wiping his hands with a handkerchief, which he then promptly discarded, looking at it with a disgusted expression. "I am grateful for your help, Hawke," he absentmindedly said, clearly lost in some depressing thought of his own.

He gave a look to Fenris then, behind his back. The elf had stopped to talk to Varric about some rumours of where his sister might be hiding, and Anders took the chance to question Hawke about his decision to reconcile with him.

"I know it's not my place to say anything," he started in a low voice, "but are you sure about Fenris? He seems more a wild dog to me than a man. And he hurt you terribly, Hawke. Are you sure you want to put your faith in him again?"

Hawke's smile faded, and a scowl twisted his handsome features. "Anders, tread carefully. You're overstepping here, and oversteps in this place will land you squarely into a pile of shit."

His voice carried, and Fenris raised his head and narrowed his eyes at the blond healer.

"He has let one bad experience colour his whole existence, Hawke," he said. "I thought you'd want someone more open-minded than him. He refers to all mages as monsters, even your sister. You support mages- how can you take that? He accused you of using a demon to manipulate him!"

"You all did that, as I recall," Hawke's voice was silky smooth, in that eerily soft-spoken way it had of becoming as soft as velvet when the rogue was deadly angry and ready to fly into a rage. "Glass houses, Anders. Stones. Shouldn't throw them."

Hating the mage for reminding Hawke, Fenris stepped forward. "A mage and a hypocrite," he sneered, his voice gravely with barely leashed fury and contempt. "What company you keep!" he turned to Hawke.

"Come now boys," Varric intervened. "Play nicely. Blondie, Broody, behave. Don't make me get my slipper and tan your behinds."

Hawke smiled. "Sorry, Varric," he said, his hand petting Fenris' behind for just an instance, "But that behind is mine. I have high designs for it."

"Hawke!" Fenris blushed, then batted his hand away. "Behave."

Before they filed out of that reeking place, a miffed Anders leading the way, Fenris stopped Hawke with a hand on his bicep then pulled him close.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Hawke," he growled, his green eyes narrowed and his breath hot against the man's ear.

A cheeky smile answered him before Hawke pecked a small kiss on his lips.

"Tonight," he promised.

* * *

That night, Fenris arrived at Hawke's house having completely different expectations. All his day had been filled by erotic daydreams about the rogue, with memories and recollections of each time they had been together. He was already half hard when he arrived at the door, but the sight of Hawke, in his loose fitting tunic and soft doe-skin breeches, pacing agitatedly in front of the fire dampened his mood almost immediately.

"Is there something the matter?" he asked, walking into the room.

Hawke raised his head, and gave him a terse smile. "Anders was just here."

Fenris' whole body tensed up. "What did he want?"

Hawke resumed his pacing, running a hand through the short hair that had just started coming out on his head again. "He wants me to distract the Grand Cleric. Maker knows why. I said no." A weary sigh escaped him, before he sat down heavily in his chair. "Damn it. He's planning something. This isn't good. To be precise," he shot Fenris a covert look, "it's fishier than a group of mermaids after an orgy."

"I do not trust that mage..." Fenris started pacing too, but Hawke's laughter interrupted his next words.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"This is hardly the time for your sarcasm, Hawke," Fenris chastised him.

Another weary sigh escaped Hawke. "Tell me about it. I had other plans for tonight, than us sitting here talking about Anders."

And just like that, the desire that was smouldering inside Fenris all day came back full force, tightening his body, making his green eyes dilate. "Oh?" he cocked his head to the side. "Do tell."

Hawke rose from his chair in a smooth, elegant move and prowled towards him with that lithe grace he always possessed. He stopped just inches from Fenris' body, his breath already coming out in little excited puffs of air.

"I was planning on...how did you say it? Putting my mouth where my money is."

"It was the other way around," Fenris said in a small gasp, as Hawke leaned in to lightly lick along his jawline.

He felt Hawke's lips turn upwards into a smile against his skin. "It was the right way around," he said, laying a suckling kiss at the sensitive skin underneath the elf's ear. "I plan to put my mouth all over you."

Before sanity completely evaporated in the hot pleasure Hawke's kisses along his neck and under his chin ignited inside him, Fenris stepped a little back, to look deep into the rogue's eyes, now misty gray with arousal.

"Are you certain, Hawke?" he nearly growled, his voice made even more gravelly with desire.

"I don't know," Hawke closed the distance between them, bringing his body flush with Fenris'. A very noticeable bulge was tenting the front of his clothes, and he rubbed himself shamelessly against Fenris' stomach. "Am I? What do you think?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him. "A clear answer: Do you want this? Are you ready?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. "What do I have to do? Beg?"

A predatory smile curled Fenris' mouth. "No need."

His next movements were a blur, even to him. He couldn't remember afterwards how he had gotten out of his armour, or how he had undressed Hawke. He might have ripped his clothes off, not that the human cared, if his whispered pleas to hurry were any indication. Fenris thought that after all this time, their coupling would be hot and passionate, hurried; but his own self once again surprised him. Once he was naked, and his body was meshed with the rogue's bared skin, something that had been tightening inside him suddenly relaxed. Something soft flooded his soul; soft, warm and incredibly beautiful. The rough kiss he was in the middle of giving Hawke gentled, and his arms wrapped around the shaking body of the taller man with almost awed reverence.

"I missed you," he whispered, his voice choked by emotion. "Gabriel. I _missed_ you."

"I know," Hawke looked into his eyes. "Shh. I know. It's alright. I missed you too."

Fenris gave him a confused little look before the rogue leaned in and licked a tear that had –totally without him noticing it- slipped over his lashes.

Fenris' hand came up to cup the rogue's face; he put every last ounce of all the conflicting emotions on his heart behind the look in his eyes: want, love, lust, fear. The rogue almost gasped at the unguarded passion on his eyes, then his face erupted into a happy smile, his dimples bracketing it, his eyes shining.

He bent for a second and dug around in his discarded clothes; he came back up holding a long red strip, making Fenris' breath catch.

"May I?" Hawke just asked, his voice soft.

Fenris couldn't speak. He just nodded and held out his hand, watching with bated breath as Hawke nimbly tied the band around his wrist. A feeling of finally being complete again rocked him down to his toes once the fabric was tied in place. He only thee realised how much he had missed this symbol of his relationship to Hawke, how its absence had been like missing a limb.

"Perfect," Hawke purred, looking at the red band decorating the elf's wrist. "Now, mine."

He produced another red band from inside his pocket and handed it to Fenris who just looked at him with wide eyes. "You wish to wear a token of my affection as well?"

Hawke nodded. "Yes. Of course, why wouldn't I?"

Fenris looked at him for a few long minutes. "You wish to state to the world that you belong to me?"

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "If only one of us does, then...I'm no better than Danarius." Fenris tried to protest at that, but Hawke raised his hand, stopping him. "I am yours, just as you are mine, Fenris," he said, quiet conviction in his eyes and his voice as he handed Fenris the band and stretched out his arm. " It goes both ways. I don't own you, and you don't own me, but I belong to you and you belong to me. Does that make sense?"

Something warm and loving spilled in Fenris' heart and made his mouth curl into a tender smile. "I understand, Hawke," he said, before tying the red band around the rogue's wrist.

Hawke looked at it, then smiled. "Come," he said, and taking Fenris by his hand, he led him to his bedroom.

* * *

Soft touches, barely there. Gentle kisses, awed, reverent. Bodies slick with sweat, trembling with desire. Burning gray and green eyes in the twilight of the room, teeth flashing in happy smiles. Moans, and murmurs, and whispered words; panting breaths. The scent of male musk, of heated male desire.

It was a night that Fenris would always remember, the first night in his life when he had made love- _really_ made love.

What a difference it made, knowing that the man who held you loved you enough to forgive you everything, and that you yourself loved the man that you held to the point of agony. What a difference it made to the way they touched and kissed and petted each other's sweat slicked bodies. Every kiss, every caress, every whispered word in the dimly lit room was like a whip urging them on- and like cold water, holding their lust back. For the first time in his life, Fenris was discovering what it meant to want someone so much, and yet to not want to take him or be taken by him, because then this would end- and he never wanted it to. It was confusing his soul, desire and love battling, each driving them to the same point by different routes. Love wanted soft touches, gentle kisses, whispered love-words. Desire wanted heated, ardent kisses, mind-boggling pleasure, bodies rubbing together, breaths labouring in the darkness.

Yet the end they both pushed them to was the same. When Hawke pressed inside him, tenderly, carefully, with awe in his eyes, Fenris knew it; this was where love and desire met. In joined heartbeats, pleasure and pain, moaned names and trembling bodies. He writhed underneath Hawke, trying to make him sink inside him faster, trying to take him in completely; it was not enough. Nothing was enough anymore. Possession couldn't possibly go far enough to sate the need in his heart- if there was any option in which he could be permanently joined to Hawke, flesh to his flesh, one body, one soul, one mind, he would have taken it at that moment.

"More," he groaned, then arched his hips, trying to make the rogue take him more completely. "Gabriel. _More_."

He felt as if he was unravelling, like his very soul would leave his body; it was frighteningly intense, this need; his heart felt tender and bruised, like something had been hammering away at it. "Hawke...Gabriel. _What is this_?"

"Shhh..." Hawke soothed him down with his long elegant fingers running the full length of his torso, with gentle kisses and licks along his neck. "I know. Don't fight it, Fenris."

He gave the elf a dazzling, but sad smile. "Now you know..." he said, pushing down a little more, slipping another inch inside him. "That's what I felt...every...single...time." Every word was enunciated by a gentle thrust, and Fenris almost went cross-eyed with bliss.

"Maker," he gasped, then slipped his hand behind Hawke's head to pull him down for a kiss. "How did you bear it, Hawke?"

Another small sad smile that said it all. _I loved you,_ that smile said. _Even back then, this was what I felt. And you didn't._

Fenris put all his power into flipping Hawke over, then straddling the surprised rogue and taking his cock inside him on his own, pushing down until their bodies touched, until the rogue could not possibly go any further in. He threw his head back and a deep, rumbling moan vibrated his chest. Hawke's hands tightened on his biceps as he thrust upwards, then swore luridly and shifted underneath Fenris, sitting up to cradle him close, wrapping his arms around him. Fenris writhed in his grasp, more out of control than he had ever been in his life, than he had ever allowed himself to be.

"Shh...calm down," Hawke soothed him, running his hands all over his muscled back, petting down the tensed, sweat-slicked muscles that were trembling under his skin. "Look into my eyes."

Fenris obeyed, and opened his eyes to look deep into Hawke's misty gray eyes. The rogue thrust softly upwards, rocking them both; a moan escaped them both, a gasp of surprise. The angle was perfect to rub against that spot inside Fenris that sent waves of pleasure to battle the sting of the painfully tight fit. He pushed down on his own, engulfing the rogue's length down to the root, a groan escaping his clenched teeth.

"That's it..." Hawke moaned. "Look into my eyes, Fenris. That's it. Take me. Just like that."

Another upward thrust, Hawke's hand tightening on the elf's hips, helping him push upwards until only the tip of Hawke's cock was inside him. "Maker, you're so good..." he hissed as he let Fenris' weight drive him downwards again, taking him in once more.

"Shut up," Fenris groaned. "Just shut...up." He kissed Hawke then, and the human smiled under the kiss, then threw his head back.

"Alright," he gasped. "No talking. Just...this."

He pushed Fenris backwards then, until he was on his back, and climbed back on top of him, smiling like that cat that had just eaten the canary and snatched the goldfish from the bowl. The smile faded to be replaced by a ravenous, predatory expression as he sank inside the elf again- then their bodies took over.

They could speak much more eloquently than words ever could, anyway.


	18. Chapter 18

The days that followed were miraculous; tense with unresolved issues as they both struggled to find their equilibrium again, as the lines in their relationship were established and each of them struggled to learn the other's boundaries. They were filled with awkwardness and small discoveries as well; Hawke snored lightly when he was tired, Fenris found out, and he himself preferred sleeping on the right side of the bed. Hawke's habit of hogging the blankets was infuriating, not to mention the way the tall, long-limbed human managed to push him to the edge of the mattress each night. Hawke had quickly found out that a morning person Fenris was definitely not; after the second time he got a mug of tea splattered on his face he learned not to be so chirpy in the mornings, and to give Fenris his time. On the other hand, Fenris had quickly learned that he had to loosen up a little; his manners, especially in instances that Hawke had connected with homey intimacy, where overly stiff and formal. After being riled about it for two days by Hawke who insisted on calling him ' _his exalted elfiness'_ he made an effort to relax.

But above it all, the days that followed felt... _right_. Belonging, togetherness. Even silence between them was comfortable and easy, no need to fill it with talk. As they both lounged on the couch each evening, wrapped up in each other, and read from the same book, Fenris marvelled in this feeling of finally being where he belonged.

Nights were spent together, either making sweet, passionate love, or just holding each other, falling asleep in a tangle of limbs and waking up stiff from unnatural positions and with arms numb and prickling after being caught under each other's body. During the day, they went on missions together, fought side by side like two pieces of a well-oiled machine. The way they fought, side by side, one rogue and one warrior, both completely different in the fighting techniques, resembled a dance that had been perfected after years of practice; not once, but many times, their companions were just left staring. It was amazing how Gabriel danced in and out of the path of that huge greatsword. It was almost mesmerising to see how easily Fenris had adapted his fighting stance to allow for the lithe rogue to slip under his blows- it was like ballet, watching them ravage the battlefield together.

As Merrill had said, it was like watching people making love- but with blood flying everywhere.

Only the issue of templars and mages was still like a brick wall between them. Hawke was determined to not let Knight-Commander Meredith free reign in _his_ city, and Fenris was adamant that the templars needed to tighten the leash on mages even more. His experience over the years, the sheer number of blood mages and abominations they had encountered in the city, had convinced him that Kirkwall was somehow a magnet that drew in such elements. He strongly believed that the templars needed to bear down even more strongly on the stray apostates in the city- Hawke disagreed. He felt that it was the templars' oppressiveness that pushed more and more mages in Kirkwall to desperate ends.

Knight-Captain Cullen, who was a regular at Hawke's house as of late, gave them reports of misuse of power from Meredith, and of signs that the Knight-Commander was not completely sane. He gave Hawke grim news that agreed with most of what Anders said against Meredith: more and more harrowed mages becoming tranquil for the slightest transgression, mages being taken to the dungeons for questioning for no apparent reason, beatings and punishments that were both irrational and unjust.

Cullen had warned Hawke to be on his guard, because as soon as Meredith had heard that he had been put forward for the position of Viscount, she'd had a fit. He had been pressed into befriending Hawke by the Knight-Commander herself, after all, who had urged him to report anything suspicious back to her, because she suspected that Hawke 'was a victim of demonic influence'.

Hawke and Fenris had exchanged a wry smile at that, but didn't dare tell Cullen the whole story about Lust and how close Meredith's suspicions had been to the truth.

But once Cullen left, the old argument between them erupted every time; Fenris could not bring himself to trust any mage, and Hawke could not bear see them suffer under the oppression of a tyrannical Knight-Commander. He kept imagining his sister as a mindless, droning tranquil, and the image was enough to send him into a rage, fuelled by fear and frustration. None of them could convince the other, and their arguments carried long into the night, often remaining unresolved, because amidst the shouting and the growling they usually got hot and bothered enough to just forget the whole thing and tumble into bed together.

It was after a few weeks of this unresolved tension between them- and after another visit by Cullen followed closely by one from Anders who once again asked for Hawke's help- that Fenris stayed awake all night, watching the face of the man that had come to mean everything to him, and realising that if things progressed any more, he was in serious danger of losing Hawke. He lay in bed next to his sleeping lover long into the wee hours of the morning, staring at the ceiling, then looking at the peaceful, nearly boyish face of Hawke next to him, relaxed in sleep, his short hair still damp from sweat and sticking out in all directions.

With a sigh, Fenris realised he needed to take desperate measures to ensure Hawke's safety. There was no doubt that this whole mage-templar tension was going to escalate even further. Like a covered cauldron that boiled and hissed, the tension in the city was mounting; he had no doubt that soon trouble would erupt. One of the two sides would snap, and when that happened Hawke would be caught in the middle of it, like always. Since he already knew what side Hawke would take, it was made abundantly clear to Fenris that Hawke would probably pay for his devotion to mages with his life- there was no way one man, no matter how capable, could stand up to the might of the Templar Order.

Fenris could not allow that. He could not stand back and let Hawke throw his life away. He would do everything in his power to make sure his Gabriel would survive the storm that was brewing in the horizon...even if it meant losing him.

Even if it meant...betraying him.

He snuck out of the room, went downstairs, and painstakingly scribbled a few unsteady words on a piece of parchment. He then sealed the letter with Hawke's own stamp, and slipped it in the pile of correspondence ready to be sent out. He then returned to Hawke's side, and slipped into bed next to him. The rogue rolled over, one hand thrown over Fenris, and nuzzled into his neck, a contented sigh escaping him in his sleep.

But Fenris lay there, unable to sleep.

The following morning, a courier arrived and took the letters Hawke had prepared to be distributed as they were having breakfast. Fenris watched him go; at that moment, a sharp flash of regret, of momentary doubt, darkened his heart. He was ready to rush behind the courier and take that damned piece of parchment back, and tear it to pieces.

"Anders wants to see me," Hawke said at that very moment, as he threw his napkin on the table. "Are you coming?"

"I enjoy following you, Hawke," Fenris replied, his moment of doubt forgotten as he remembered how the mage used Hawke's sympathy for him and his cause to manipulate him. He resigned himself to the plan he had hatched in the middle of the night with a weary sigh. It had been done. It was the only way.

His letter, hidden among the pile of innocent letters of acceptance or refusal to various events, had probably been already delivered by the time they returned from a quest the next day; Fenris looked at Hawke who had strolled out of his house with a wide, dimpled smile on his face, and lowered his head, something inside him clenching with regret.

"Is everything alright?" Hawke pushed a tendril of white hair behind Fenris' ear, his eyes warm and loving.

"Everything is as should be," Fenris tried to smile back. Inside, his very soul was screaming.

 _Forgive me_ , it said. _Gabriel. Forgive me. It was the only way._

* * *

Just a few weeks afterwards, Fenris stood with Hawke at the stairs leading to the Chantry's courtyard, while the sky rained fire and destruction down on them, and Anders' voice echoed in all their ears, along with the ungodly boom and roar that had accompanied the Chantry's destruction.

"I removed the chance for compromise," the mage had said, "because there is no compromise. Hawke. You must choose."

Meredith raised her head in the air. "The Chantry was destroyed," she said, unholy glee making her tone more threatening. "The Grand Cleric was slain by magic. I hereby evoke the right of Annulment on the Kirkwall Circle. Every single mage will die for this!"

"The Circle didn't even do this!" Orsino cried out. "Champion! You can't let her do this."

Hawke wavered, caught between his shock and the need to defend his sole surviving family member, to not allow innocents to die.

He looked from Anders to Orsino, then to Meredith; then his shoulders dropped and he uttered a curse word that would have made even the most seasoned dockhand blush.

"I will stand with you," he turned to Orsino. "I won't let her turn this into more of a blood bath."

"Praise the Maker!" the First Enchanter exclaimed while Meredith took a threatening step closer. "If you defend the mages, you will share their fate, Champion," she said.

Hawke smiled then, his usual who-cares smile, the one that curled his lips when he was faced with impossible odds. It was the same smile he had shot the world before he had taken on the Arishok, the same one he had given Fenris before he nearly died to give him a chance to escape from Danarius' grasp.

"I'd share a pint of piss with them before I sided with you, Meredith," he casually said, then drew his daggers and turned to his companions. "Get ready, everybody. Fenris, you have my back, don't you?"

"Not this time, Hawke."

A look of confusion made the rogue drop his battle stance, while malicious glee painted itself on the Knight-Commanders' face. "Your elf has been on our side for quite some time, Champion," she leered. "Even your companions see the folly of your choice."

Hawke completely disregarded the Knight-Commander, as if she wasn't even there. His whole body tensed like a drawn bow, he had eyes only for Fenris- wide, shocked eyes, bewildered and confused. "Fenris?"

"I...cannot fight at your side, Hawke, not if you choose to defend the mages."

A shocked gasp escaped the rest of the party. Hawke stumbled a little in surprise, then a little laugh escaped him, his eyes even wider on his suddenly pale face. "You must be joking. Fenris. Tell me you're joking. Varric," he turned to the dwarf next to him, "pinch me."

The dwarf sent the tall human a rueful look, then narrowed his eyes to Fenris. "That's low, Elf, even for you," he mumbled.

"I cannot do this. I am sorry."

Hawke gulped down then he lowered his head, and just nodded. "Is _this_ what you meant when you said you _that_ me, Fenris?" His voice was ghostly thin, while lines of bitterness bracketed his lips.

"It has nothing to do with that!" Fenris' face darkened into a scowl. "I have seen what happens in the Imperium, Hawke, what mages are capable of. If you think I won't fight to stop that from happening here as well, think again."

Hawke's voice was soft. "Then, that means...you will have to kill me, Fenris. If you stand in my way, we will face each other as enemies."

He raised his eyes to look at the elf, then, and the look in his gray eyes was more than tormented. The look in Hawke's eyes was worse than when the elf had accused him of using a demon to manipulate him, worse than when he had been accused of rape. It wasn't that it was pained, or betrayed, or even angry. It was the fact that it was completely devoid of any and all emotion; his eyes had suddenly turned into gray glass. Something had died in Hawke's eyes, and Fenris nearly fell to his knees with the pain of realising that for a second time in one year he was responsible for it.

"Know it beforehand, then," Hawke whispered, his voice soft and sad – no, not even sad. Resigned. Dead. "I cannot kill you. When we meet on the battle field, be prepared to kill me, because," he gestured to the templars, "I cannot stand for what they want to do, and I cannot see you die, not at my hand." A wry little smile lifted a corner of his face. "Between a rock and a hard place, as always."

"I wish it didn't come to this, Hawke," Fenris' face twisted. "But there are things I wouldn't do even for you."

"Right. Well," Hawke chuckled bitterly, "that makes more of a fool, then, because there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"Then do not defend these mages. Join the templars. Do it for me."

Hawke took a step back. He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes on it. His shoulders sagged under the pressure of Fenris' impossible demand. He looked to Anders, standing at the side with a pitying look on his face, to the quiet, dignified desperation on the face of Orsino. To the anger and shock that was reflected in the eye of his companions. He sighed once more, suddenly looking as if in a few seconds he had aged a decade- tired, weary, disillusioned.

"Alright Fenris," he said, shrugging, his eyes turning to the ground. "If that's what you want...I'll join the templars. I'll put my own sister and countless innocents to the blade. For you." Orsino started protesting and Hawke raised a hand to stop him- the mage's words died on his lips at anguished look that the Champion gave him. "There are more than forty children in the circle, Fenris, but I will slaughter them all, just for you. Because you asked it of me. I will put my daggers through the heart of the only family member I have left, my Bethany, my baby sister." He closed his eyes tightly at that, and swallowed down heavily. "For you."

His head bowed and then he let out another weary sigh. "On one condition. You'll rip out my heart afterwards. I cannot live with the monster you want me to turn into."

It was Fenris' turn to stumble in shock. "You cannot be serious."

"I can when I want to," Hawke smiled that sad excuse of a smirk again. "So, do we have a deal? I kill everything I am for you, and then you kill me."

"Hawke."

"Agreed, or not?"

Fenris growled. "No. You make impossible demands. Go, defend you mages then. Throw your life away."

"What does it matter to you?" Hawke laughed bitterly. "I either join you, and not be able to live with myself, or die in battle at your hand- because I _cannot_ fight you, not even after this. I'm dead either way. Not that it matters, not to me, not to anyone else. Certainly not to you."

"Hawke...This need not end in your death."

"Doesn't it?" another wry smile curled Hawke's mouth. "Make your choice, Fenris. I have made mine."

"I will fight with the templars."

"In battle it is, then."

"Hawke..."

"Goodbye, Fenris. I...I'm sorry I ever met you. I'm sorry I ever let you close...I wish..I wish that demon _had_ eaten my soul; I wish Sandal hadn't sensed her. I would have died happy. Make it quick, when we meet. Alright?"

"Hawke... you cannot betray your principles, just like I cannot betray mine. I cannot change who I am any more than you can."

Hawke turned back over his shoulder then, and gave Fenris a small smile, a smile that was trembling slightly at the corners. "You could have walked away- not fight on either side. You wouldn't have betrayed anything then- not your precious principles, not the damn little idiot that dared trust in you once more."

He closed his eyes. "How stupid can a person be?" he asked himself softly. "I don't deserve to live, I'm _that_ hopelessly naive."

"Hawke," Fenris said, his voice soft. "I am..."

"Don't you dare say you're sorry!" Hawke turned to him abruptly, taking a menacing step forward, before he controlled himself again. "Damn you," he said softly. "Damn you, Fenris." He bit his lip to stop it from trembling. His eyes suddenly flashed and Fenris felt a chill go down his spine, because he recognised that look on Hawke's face, the one that he got when he got recklessly angry. It wasn't a look that graced Hawke's expression very often, and when it did things never turned out well, because Hawke tended to get out of control when he was angry like that. But it was preferable to the blank, almost dead look that was on his face a few minutes ago.

"You once stood there in front of me and accused me of being a monster..." Hawke went on. "Well. Take a good look at yourself, man. No one would have done this to another human being, not twice. Not like that. It's not me that's the monster, Fenris, it's you."

His lip curled in a little derisive smirk. "You weren't worth it, after all. Anders was right."

Meredith stepped in at that very moment, drawing her sword. "Kill them all!" she raged to her templars, and Hawke flipped her the finger over his shoulder, before he turned around, quick as lightning, and threw his one dagger at one of the advancing templars with deadly accuracy. The blade embedded itself straight between the man's eyes, going through the steel helmet like a knife through warm butter. The rest of the templars faltered for just a second, watching in shock as the man fell to his knees and then hit the ground with a dull thump.

"Come on," Hawke beckoned at them, crooking his fingers. "Bring it on, shitheads."

Fenris fell back and watched him wreck havoc on the templars, before Meredith nodded at him and then, casting one last look behind him, he followed her, shame and regret burning his gut like acid.

"You have made the right choice, Serah Fenris," the blond Knight-Commander said to him as she led the rest of her men back towards the Gallows.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at her, scowling. Behind him, he could hear the din of battle and the cries of dying men; he thought he heard Varric's battle calls and Isabela's laughter...but he couldn't hear Hawke. The few times that Hawke had ever gotten into a killing mood like this one, he had been deadly, but silent; no laughter, no taunts, no cheeky smile that bespoke of how much he enjoyed the adrenaline of battle.

When Hawke got into a mood like that, he was determined, doggedly focused: kill or die. He had only gotten like this two or three times in Fenris' memory: one was during the Deep Roads, fighting the Rock Wraith, the other was when his mother was killed and he was fighting with that monster of a mage. Hawke had to be pushed to his limit to turn this bloodthirsty- he had to be pushed far enough not to care about anything else.

Fenris lowered his head again, sorrow making his every step leaden. Before he even knew it, the sound of battle faded and he was standing in front of the boat at the peer to the Gallows; he looked around him, suddenly surprised. A stab of pain went through him and his next step hesitated; he had left Hawke behind, for the first time in years he wasn't by his side as he fought. He wondered vaguely where Sebastian had been, if he had made it to Hawke's side, how the ex-prince would react to the news of Elthina's death. He hoped to every god that ever existed that he wouldn't blame the whole mess on Hawke, or make more impossible demands of him.

He didn't think Hawke would be able to take another betrayal, not tonight, but he knew in his heart that Sebastian would demand Anders' death- and that was another thing that Hawke would never be able to do. As they embarked at the Gallows courtyard, he caught sight of Cullen and he nodded imperceptibly to the templar, who nodded back, his face set in grim lines. Knowing what he did about the templar's relationship with Hawke's sister, he wondered how many couples would be separated this night, how many love affairs the damned mage-templar conflict would tear asunder.

Whatever happened this night, he knew, he had resigned to it that night when he had made his intentions known to Cullen...Hawke was lost to him.

Gabriel would never forgive him.

* * *

Hawke stood above the massive, bulging corpse of the abomination Orsino had turned into, clutching his side. He struggled to take in enough breath, pressing his hand to his side where his only too recent wound had started throbbing. His sister approached him, a frown of concern on her pretty face, but he just batted her hands away.

"Leave me be," he gruffly said, then looked around him, missing the shocked- and slightly hurt- look on Bethany's features.

The mage retreated, and fell back next to Varric, shooting her brother worried looks.

"What happened? Why is Gabriel acting like that?" she shivered a bit. "I have never seen him like this, so...gruff, and bloodthirsty."

The dwarf took his eyes from the bandage he was wrapping around his arm. "Fenris happened."

The young mage looked around her, finally realising that the elf, her brother's most loyal companion, wasn't with them.

"He didn't join Gabriel?" she gave the dwarf a perplexed look. "But Cullen let imply that..."

"Oh, ho-ho-ho!" Varric's eyes twinkled. "Spill, Sunshine! _Cullen_? Since when are you and the Knight-Captain on first name basis?"

Bethany blushed violently, then looked around her in alarm. "Hush, Varric!" she whispered urgently. "Now is not the time. Tell me about Gabriel and Fenris instead. What happened?"

Varric sighed and his good mood seemed to deflate. "It's a long story, Sunshine," he said. "And as pretty as a nug's ass."

She snuck a look at her brother, his back stiff, his shoulders tensed, pacing agitatedly and kicking things in his way while he murmured curses under his breath. "Give me the short version, Varric," she told the dwarf, still watching her brother.

The dwarf sighed and gave the door a rueful look. Anders approached Hawke, blue light flashing in his hands, and Hawke shoved his face in the mage's and told him something that made the blond healer stumble. The blue light faded, as Anders gave Hawke a sympathetic look. It seemed to infuriate Hawke even further, and he stalked off, approaching Aveline and Isabela and talking to them in a low, urgent whisper.

"Well, in a nut shell, Sunshine..." he started, still looking at Hawke, "watch your brother. I don't like the mood he's in."

He then proceeded to give her sketchy details of the whole story, of everything that had happened during the past year, starting with the amulet and finishing with Fenris' betrayal, and Sebastian's angry demand for Anders' death, as well as his threat to make Hawke and Kirkwall pay for allowing the mage to live.

The young mage listened with wide eyes; her lips tightened, and a few gasps escaped her, as well as a pained moan when Varric told her of the injuries her brother had sustained while battling Danarius. When he got to Fenris' only too recent betrayal, her fists clenched by her side and her lips thinned even more in anger.

"I'll singe his balls off," she threatened darkly.

Varric sighed again, watching as Hawke finally ran out of steam and sat down, clutching his side again. Anders approached him once more, offering healing, and this time the rogue didn't refuse. Varric didn't feel less worried, though- that tight feeling of foreboding, of impending doom, just didn't want to go away.

"Just...keep an eye on your brother," Varric cautioned her. "He's on the edge, honey. This has all been too much for him."

Bethany's brow wrinkled in concern. Snippets of conversation with Cullen slipped into her mind, things that she hadn't really paid attention to at that moment, caught in the thrill of their secret meetings and the fear of being discovered. Cullen had told her that Fenris and Hawke were back together, hadn't he? And then a few weeks later, he had asked her what Hawke would do if the mage-templar conflict escalated into a war. He had been concerned, worried, pacing agitatedly. He had assured her he would do his best to help and protect her brother, but his eyes had been shaded by uncertainty. A few days later, he was more relaxed, almost as if he had found a way to keep his promise, and brushed off her questions with a small smile and an assurance that no harm would come to Hawke, even if Knight-Commander Meredith turned against him.

She was ready to share her suspicions with Varric when Hawke stopped in front of them and nodded tersely, looking at the door.

"It's time, people," he said. He tried to offer a smile, but it was fake, strained, and didn't reach his eyes; they were lost in some clearly painful thought, focused inwards, to some thought that made his sensual mouth turn into a small bitter frown. He pulled Bethany to the side, just as she was passing by him, falling into her pre-ordained place.

"Bethany," he said in small voice. "If I die... _when_ I die...know that I love you, baby girl. Cullen will keep you safe, I'm sure of it."

She raised a hand to caress his cheek, and for a moment her heart lurched with the pain she saw in his gray eyes before he closed them tightly and drew a deep breath.

"Gabriel, please don't talk like that..." she whispered. "I love you too, brother."

A wry, bitter smile curled his lips. "Well... it's nice to know. At least _somebody_ does."

And then he was gone, walking away with those long, determined strides of his, his shoulders squared, his chin held high. His mabari whined at Bethany, as if asking her to do something, and she bent to scratch him behind the ears. She watched her brother walk off, unsheathing his daggers and twirling them effortlessly, the edges gleaming with poison. He looked ready for battle, at least outwardly. Bethany shook her head. She knew her brother; she knew how much this day had cost him already, and suspected that perhaps, by the end of it, it would cost him even more.


	19. Chapter 19

Fenris was still- too still. Keeping his body perfectly, totally motionless, drawing on the years of experience controlling his expression and emotions, he stood by the side of Knight-Commander Meredith and her men, not even blinking as Hawke and his companions stormed into he courtyard.

Hawke came to a halt a fewfeet away from the Knight-Commander, his daggers drawn and his shoulders squared, spluttered with blood from head to toe. He didn't even spare one look for Fenris, he was completely focused on Meredith, narrowing her eyes at her.

"So..." Meredith said, an expression of fake regret on her face, "it has finally come to this, Champion."

"Pfttt," Hawke sneered. "As if you didn't want to see me hang from the very beginning. Go find a corner in the market and see if anyone buys it, Meri dear."

The blond warrior's lips thinned into a tight line for just a moment, before she looked around her, to the circle of templars that were slowly closing in. "I bear you no ill will, Champion," she said, "you did this to yourself." Her face hardened. "You are no mage- but in choosing to support them, you have opted to share their fate."

Cullen stepped in, after exchanging a nod with Fenris. "Knight-Commander," he said, his voice reasonable, "I thought we had agreed to arrest the Champion. Serah Fenris joined us on your direct promise that the Champion was not to be harmed- you took oath, in front of all your lieutenants."

Hawke's eyes focused on the face of the elf, surprise and confusion making them wide for a moment, before he narrowed them again. "Serah Fenris should have minded his own business," he scoffed. "The Champion of Kirkwall is no helpless little urchin for Meredith to push around." His chin rose proudly. "I dare say that if the Knight Commander thinks I will cower down and follow her bidding like a beaten puppy, she has a few shingles loose on the rooftop." He crossed his arms in from of his chest and glowered at the blond warrior. "Arrest me?" he spat, then his lip curled derisively. "You and what army?"

Meredith pointed to the men around her, her eyebrow rising up sarcastically. Hawke looked around, a completely disinterested look on his face, then he examined his fingernails and buffed them against his leather tunic.

"Pfft. I'm shaking." He yawned for good measure. "I have never," another yawn, "been so scared in my life. Can we get this over with, already? I have an appointment with my tailor."

Cullen stepped forward. "The point remains, Knight Commander," he insisted, "that you swore an oath to Andraste that the Champion was only to be arrested."

"You will do as I say, Cullen!" the blond woman glared at her second in command. "The Champion dies here!"

Murmurs started echoing all around. "No." Cullen raised his voice. "I defended you when Ser Thrask started whispering you were mad. I excused your actions for overzealousness in the line of duty. But this goes too far."

Another voice sounded from among the ranks. "The Champion is a hero! We cannot..."

"That is enough!" Meredith drew her sword. "I will not allow insubordination!" A red flash made everyone avert their faces as the monstrous sword in her hand started gleaming maliciously- and a hum of unleashed, malignant energy filled the air. "We must stay true to our cause!" Meredith raged, holding that evil looking sword in her hand.

"Knight Commander, I relieve you of you command!" Cullen didn't cower in front of the otherworldly energy that was emitted from the sword. "Step down! This has gone far enough."

Voices echoed all around, some agreeing with Cullen, some arguing against him. Hawke titled his head to the side as he saw that most of the men that were rooting for Cullen were standing close to Fenris, or rather, he was standing next to them.

Fenris gave him a small smile- it was rueful, apologetic, but also triumphant, and suddenly Hawke realised what had happened. Fenris...hadn't betrayed him. He had hatched a plan along with Cullen, that had led to Meredith looking as a dishonest, blasphemous bitch in front of her own men. He had pretended to side with Meredith, so that her own men could see that she was not to be trusted. No doubt, all this time Cullen and he were working on the templars, trying to organise their own little army within the templar ranks. Meredith was still considering them both as being on her side- but they had been on his from the very beginning.

Relief flooded him- Fenris hadn't betrayed him.

Then, right on the heels of amazing, soul-brightening relief, rage followed. Fenris had coddled him, and lied, and thought he needed to go to such extreme measures to protect him, as if he was helpless, as f he was a fragile china doll. He had let him believe that he was betraying him, making him go though the horrid pain of rejection and lost trust for a second time, because he'd thought...what? That he couldn't take Meredith on?

He wasn't some simpering little princess, he was the Champion of fucking Kirkwall! He narrowed his eyes at the elf. Maybe he hadn't betrayed him, but what he'd done still sucked. He had shaken his trust, once more, he had reminded him of the feeling of bitterness and disappointment he had made such effort to leave behind. Damn him, he could have said something, he could have given him some small hint of what he had been planning instead of ripping his heart out in front of all his companions one more time.

It seemed there were a few things he had to make clear to the elf: he didn't need protection, he didn't need a nanny- all he needed was to be able to trust in the man he loved. And Fenris had shaken that trust, once more. Anger made Hawke's eyes glint- damn him! It would serve him right if he never forgave this.

He focused on Meredith again, that addressed him with a twisted, hoarse voice, her hands caressing the vile blade. "You recognise it, do you not?" she asked, her face bathed in a red, hellish glow. "The dwarf asked for a hefty sum for his prize. Pure lyrium, straight from the Deep Roads."

"You have to be shitting me," Hawke groaned, eyeing the sword. "Of all the people that could have bought that cursed idol, it had to be you." He looked to the sky. "Maker, you have some twisted sense of humour, thanks a lot."

He turned his luminous gray eyes to Meredith then, a small cheeky smile playing around his lips. "You do realise that thing turned Bartrand stark raving mad in the end, don't you, Meri darling?"

"He was weak," she spat, "whereas I am not."

"Alright..." Hawke pursed his lips. "Mad as a spring hare, I see, already. Come on, Meredith, let that damned thing go, and you'll feel sooo much better soon."

"Silence!" She turned to her men, oblivious to the fact that most of them cringed away from the evil, suffocating radiance of her sword. "All of you! I want him dead."

Fenris stepped in front of Hawke. "Over my dead body."

Cullen sighed, then stepped right next to Hawke. "Mine too."

More than half the templars slowly fell into line behind Cullen and Fenris, clutching their weapons determinedly in their hands. The others were left there, staring around with wide, disbelieving eyes- and so was Meredith.

"My own templars," her voice broke, "my own Knight-Captain, all fallen prey to the influence of blood magic!" She looked around her, her eyes glowing red in the light of her sword, madness clearly reflected in her expression. "You all have!" she accused her templars. "You're all weak! Allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me. But I don't need any of you! I will protect this city myself!"

Cullen drew his sword, and the clang and hiss of tens of blades followed. "You'll have to go through me," he said- Hawke snuck a look to his sister, to see her face beaming with pride, and one corner of his mouth went up.

Bethany had chosen well.

"She's clearly lost her mind," Anders chimed from behind him, and Hawke glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Really? What was your first clue?" he shook his head, then stepped forward, both daggers at the ready; Fenris tried to stop him, with a hand on his bicep, but he shrugged it off. "I am the Champion, Fenris," he whispered. "It goes with the job description."

"If you die, I will be extremely annoyed."

"Boohoo. Now, let me go."

"Hawke!"

The Champion of Kirkwall sighed and turned to look at the elf that was clutching his arm. Anger is his eyes we replaced with a small expression of surprise: there was fear in the stoic elf's eyes.

Something that had been tightening inside Hawke all this horrid day softened. That look of terror in Fenris' eyes, that slight trembling of his hand. Suddenly he put himself in Fenris' shoes, remembering back to that day that the elf had told him that they didn't have the same preconceived notion of what love is. He asked himself if he might not have done the same in the warrior's place, plotting and scheming to keep the man he loved safe- damn it, he would. Some of his anger subsided; but not all of it. He smiled a tiny smirk, one side of his face dimpling as Fenris' eyes pleaded with him to stay safe. "I'll be alright. She's just a chick with a big mean sword, what can go wrong?"

Meredith brought her sword high, holding it's tip towards the ground, and slammed it downwards- a red glow spurted from the impact point as she fell in a prayer stance and closed her eyes.

"Blessed are those that stand in front of the corrupt and the wicked, and DO. NOT. FALTER!" she wailed and the glow spread outward, infusing the whole courtyard with its malignant power. A hair-raising screech sounded as the huge statues around the courtyard started moving.

"Crap," Hawke said, his voice soft with shock, as one of the statues stepped down from its pedestals. "Spoken too soon." He shot another look at the sky and rolled his eyes. "Thanks a million," he muttered. "Andraste, will you please control your boy up there? He's starting to piss me off."

Fenris rolled his eyes too, and drew his sword.

* * *

Hawke let his daggers fall from his hands, and they clambered to the ground, making a sound that was all too strong in the sudden quiet of the courtyard. All around him, people were moving slowly, checking fallen bodies, looking around with that shell-shocked look that survivors of a battle or a great catastrophe usually get.

He scanned the courtyard, and saw all his friends alive; a sigh of relief escaped him. Anders was already healing a gash on Aveline's side, and Varric was slowly limping to him, an arrow still protruding from his thigh. He looked around in alarm when he didn't spot Bethany, until he thought he caught a glimpse of her robes behind a pillar- along with a flash of a templar armour.

He smiled at that, as his legs gave out on him and he fell to his knees. A kiss sounded pretty nice right now.

A hand pushed his head back, and then slipped into his short, barely-there hair. He opened his eyes to look straight in Fenris' worried eyes.

"Gabriel?" Fenris' voice was soft, worried. "Are you well?"

"Tired," Hawke just sighed, closing his eyes. "So tired. With everything."

"About..."

"Not now, Fenris."

"I had to do what I did," Fenris completely disregarded him, desperate to apologise for the pain he had briefly caused him. "You have to understand. I could think of no other way to protect you."

"Fenris. Not. Now."

The cold, detached tone that Hawke used felt like a slap on Fenris' face. He drew back, flinching, before controlling his expression with herculean effort. Something shrivelled up and died inside him; Hawke was not going to forgive him, after all. He'd known when he had made his decision that his scheme might cost him Hawke, that the fragile trust they had managed to establish again might not survive a second betrayal, even if it wasn't real, even if it had been committed with only Hawke's best interest in mind.

For a moment, the prospect of going through the rest of his life without Hawke loomed in front of his eyes, and he almost staggered at the vision of himself, all alone in the long years to come, without Hawke's smiles to warm his bitter soul. The irony...to finally know what it was to love, to live for someone else, only to have that person lost to you forever.

The image was further reinforced as the rogue struggled to his feet and walked away, to talk to Cullen and the rest of the templars, sneaking looks at the mages that had amassed at the other side of the courtyard.

Tears almost sprang to his eyes, but he blinked them away, and shook his head to clear it. No, he would not despair. If it took fifty years, he would follow Hawke like his dog, trying to convince him to give him one more chance- and he would never do anything to jeopardise it if it was offered, never again.

Someone touched his arm and he turned to look at Bethany, her face black with soot, a small wound bleeding on her cheek.

"He's still in shock," she said softly. "Give him a little time. It has been a long day."

Fenris nodded to her gratefully, and watched as Hawke did his Champion duty once again, even if he was dead on his feet, even if he was clutching to his side where his wound was probably killing him. He had been remarkable during the battle that had just ended- seeing him, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he fought as well...Fenris had a hard time remembering why he had been afraid that he might lose him, why he'd thought his desperate plan to infiltrate the templar ranks had made sense.

He had never felt more proud of Hawke as he had during this battle- not even when he had killed the Arishok in single combat had the rogue been so effective, so deadly, so focused. A remarkable man that Fenris had given his heart to; and he was discovering just how remarkable every day, every instance. Hawke had fought not _with_ his companions, but _for_ them. Every single man and woman that had stood by his side of the battle line had suddenly been elevated to his family; he had stopped fighting to help unknown templars, had risked his life to save people he didn't even know. The battlefield had been his- but not only by virtue of being the best fighter among them, but for the simple fact that every one of his people had survived. Some more wounded than other, some in desperate need of healing, some barely hanging on- but he had pulled them all through.

Hawke was a leader of men, he was born to do it, by virtue of his amazingly tender heart and his caring. That was something you didn't see every day. Fenris watched him negotiate with the templars, Bethany speaking for the mages, until with a weary sigh and a small smile he shook hands with Cullen and turned to the mages, taking his sister with him as the templars kept their distance so as not to make the already skittish mages more anxious.

"Knight-Captain Cullen, acting Knight Commander, has agreed to withdraw the Order of Annulment," he said. "None of you will face punishment for what has happened here- provided you all submit yourself to minute scrutiny. There can be no more suspicions of blood magic. Orsino was above suspicion, but even he succumbed in the end."

"He did so out of despair!" one mage shouted. Hawke pinned the man with his gaze, then he nodded.

"That is true. But it does not change the facts."

"It was that apostate that started all of it!" another mage pointed a finger at Anders, and the blond mage cringed and his shoulders dropped. "It's his fault!"

"True once more," Hawke shrugged. "Anders will face justice. I have decided to turn him over to the Prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian Vael. I am certain he will see a fair trial."

Anders tried to protest, but Hawke just raised a hand. "Save it, Anders. I let you fight with us because damn it man, you have a skill with healing like I've never seen before, and because you were the one that let shit fly. But it was a crime what you did. I can't let you walk free."

He raised his head to the setting sun and then looked at all the mages one by one. The crowd fell eerily silent under his intense gaze. "Hear me on this. Cullen says he will try to keep you all safe," he said in a low voice, "but Cullen is just one man, one templar that is still worthy of respect. There will be others- soon the whole templar order will descent on Kirkwall like a swarm of locust. What happened here today...it is the beginning of a fucking _war_. If Anders was right about one thing, he was right about this: this has been brewing for a long time now. Circles will rise, the templars will bear down on you all here in Kirkwall first of all. I will be long gone by then. I won't be here to save your asses that time."

He snuck a look at the templars standing further off. "I'm getting out of this blasted city- tonight, if I can manage it. If you have half the sense the Maker gave a donkey, you'll all do the same. I daresay some heads might look the other way."

He turned on his heal and approached his own companions, stood just a few feet away from them, offered them a fake, brilliant smile and then his shoulders sagged and he drew in a shuddering breath.

"Hawke," Varric said, his eyes sympathetic, "are you feeling alright, my boy?"

"I'm just trying to realise we're all alive," he rubbed the back of his head. "And that my heart isn't lying in a pool of blood on the ground."

"Hawke," Fenris' voice was strained. "I would never...I did it to help. To protect you!"

"I guess I won't be needing this, then," Hawke ran his tongue over the inside of his lip then spat a tiny vial to the ground and watched as its contents hissed and fizzled as it came on contact with the ground. A little shudder went through the rogue, then he looked up and offered a bright smile, that didn't reach his eyes- they were haunted, somehow.

"What was that?" Varric squinted, looking at the steaming contents of the glass vial.

"Poison," Hawke simply said. "I wasn't going to let them get their hands on me- not alive at least. Zevran had given it to me. Gut Rot, that's what he said it was called."

"Are you completely daft?" Fenris grabbed on to his forearm. "You had that thing in your mouth?"

Hawke smiled softly, but didn't reply. He just pulled his arm away and walked off, giving the tiny pool of melting, hissing liquid a wide berth.

"Hawke!" Fenris trotted behind him, grabbing him from the forearm again. "Where are you going?"

"Away from here. As far away as possible."

He turned over his shoulder and gave Fenris a bitter-sweet smile. "This City has brought me nothing but death- I'm tired of it. It can go burn, for all I care. My sister is safe, I'm alive, things can't possibly get more fucked-up than they already are. So that's it; the Champion hangs his mantle. I'd give this motherfucking place the finger, but it's not worth even that."

He turned back and strode out of the Gallows, not even sparing a look for the chaos he was leaving behind- more mages were emerging from the Tower, hesitantly, bewildered templars were circling the statue Meredith had turned into with awe and fear in their eyes- corpses still bled on the stones, fires still burned.

One templar raised his head and looked at an approaching mage, his arm hanging limp by his side, dripping blood on the ground- the young mage summoned a healing spell and the templar gave a small, hesitant smile.

Varric stood there, watching, feeling that not all hope had been lost. He turned to see his retreating companions, already by the water line, and trotted to their side, suddenly afraid he would be left behind. Hawke was sitting at the prow, an introspective, weary look in his eyes. He kept his gaze downwards, resisting all attempts- subtle though they were- from Fenris' side to catch his attention. Isabela murmured something in his ear, and he offered her a small smile, then his face got that tired, resigned look again.

Varric hopped into the boat, and took his place next to Merrill. The young elf looked sad and confused and he patted her arm in reassurance.

"I don't understand," she turned huge eyes to him. "I was so mad at Fenris at betraying Hawke- but he didn't really betray him, did he? He did all he could to keep Hawke safe. It was a stupid plan..." a growl from Fenris made her cringe, "...but his intentions were good, weren't they? At least that's what I though...Why is Hawke not even...I don't understand, Varric."

Fenris' whole body tensed at the elf's words, and not even taking his eyes off Hawke's face he answered her question himself, in his gruff, silky voice. "To be reminded of betrayal is just as bad as being betrayed all over."

Hawke raised surprised eyes to Fenris' face and blinked. His lip curled in a small wry smile, then his eyes warmed, and he tilted his head to the side, regarding the white-haired elf with something else than anger and bitterness, for the first time during that long day.

"True," he softly said. "And forgiveness and remembrance are not the same. One should remember to forgive, and forgive what he remembers."

Fenris lip curled too, and hope started warming his insides.

Merrill turned to Varric again. "They lost me."

The dwarf's laughter scared away the seagulls, and echoed all the way back to the Gallows courtyard, where faces rose up to hear it and smile.


	20. Chapter 20

Hawke presence in the streets of Kirkwall as he was making his way towards his home seemed to have both a calming and an enraging effect on its citizens. Looting and fighting stopped as he appeared and throngs of people descended to tell him of their grievances.

_Champion, my house burnt down. Champion, I lost my husband in the riots. Champion, my mother was at the Chantry._

He spared just a few words, urging people to calm down, to return home, glaring at those that seemed to have found the perfect opportunity to pillage and plunder. Under his flinty gaze, a lot of them abandoned their loot and disappeared down dark alleys; Hawke looked like an avenging god of war, bathed in blood, his daggers glinting as he kept them drawn by his side, their handles caked with dry blood and gore.

The nobles in the Kirkwall squares were worse, circling him like a pack of jackals, complaining in shrill voices and Orlesian accents. He silenced them all with a shout and then calmly said:

"I am no longer your Champion. Find another fool to solve your problems."

Hushed, fearful murmurs followed him as he made his way to his house, in the area of Hightown that was once the Chantry courtyard. They had to go over rumble and fallen debris, past houses that were still smouldering, past others that were burning, people rushing about throwing water on the fire, or tearing the houses next to them down, so that the fire wouldn't spread. He didn't look left or right, didn't acknowledge anyone; he put one weary foot in front of the other, his companions following him silently.

People shouted in joy when they saw him, as if he could wave his hand and all their troubles would disappear. His blood-soaked, dejected appearance registered next, and people looked at him with wide eyes, murmuring in low voices, praying to the Maker for help- for if the Champion looked so broken, what hope was there for the rest of them?

Hawke seemed not to notice any of it. He cast one look at the huge sunken crater that the Chantry had been as they were going by- a chill raced down his spine, but he said nothing, only pinned Anders with an reproachful stare until the blond mage had to lower his eyes. He nodded towards the Keep, and then stood there, watching as Anders made his way slowly past him, following Aveline docilely. They didn't exchange a single word, nor did the blond mage look back at Hawke once. But he was certain that Anders would not try to run away.

His house was still standing, although they had to spend what was left of their waning strength to move some pieces of timber and fallen masonry that were blocking the entryway. Sebastian was waiting for him inside his house, and Hawke sighed and rubbed a hand against his forehead, then looked at his fingers, as if surprised to see them covered in dry blood and soot.

"Prince Vael," he said, then did a formal, mocking bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, your Excellency?"

Sebastian made a frustrated gesture. "Stop that, you little clown. I came to apologise."

Hawke moved his neck to the side, until a satisfied crack echoed from his spine, then he sighed. "Let's have it then. I have always wondered how royalty apologises."

"Royalty doesn't apologise, Hawke," Varric mumbled. "They go all 'it was the Maker's will that our decision was crap' and then they go about their merry business."

Sebastian pinned the dwarf with a cold look, then he folded his arms against his chest. "I was wrong to demand Anders' death- I shouldn't have asked it of you. He deserves to die, but..."

Hawke unbuckled his shoulder guards and let them drop to the floor with a sigh of relief. "Aveline has him in the dungeons. He followed her peacefully." He then looked at the Prince. "Do you promise me he will have a fair trial?"

Sebastian was taken aback. "You are surrendering him to me?"

"Promise me, Sebastian," Hawke's eyes were soft. "Promise you will see that he has a fair trial. And if the verdict is guilty and his punishment is to be tranquillity, promise me you will offer him a merciful death instead. Don't let him... _promise_ _me_."

The tall archer swallowed heavily, caught in the intensity of Hawke's pleading gray eyes. "I promise," he said solemnly. He then titled his head to the side, observing the rogue. "Are we still friends, Hawke?"

"You demanded that I kill one of my best friends," Hawke looked away. "A man that had saved my life, and yours, countless times. You insisted that I kill him, without thinking what it would do to me to be the one..." he cut himself short and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing wearily. "We are still friends, Sebastian. It's just that the word never meant the same to both of us."

Sebastian moved closer, obviously ready to defend himself, but Hawke just stepped to the side, showing the door behind him. "Have a good life, Seb. I'll miss you."

Fenris stood to the side, along with Varric, Merrill and Isabela, feeling a tendril of dread wrap around his heart. If Hawke was ready to dismiss Sebastian like that...then what would he do with him? He had caused him so much more distress this day, so much more disappointment. He watched as Sebastian lowered his head and left, sneaking one last look behind him at Hawke's rigid back and feared that he would be the next one leaving like this, with his tail between his legs.

Varric and Merrill left next, taking a few minutes to finalise their plans with Hawke and Isabela. The pirate queen would sail in the wee hours of the morning- most of the companions were going with her- Varric and Merrill, Aveline and Donnic. Bethany and Cullen would also be travelling with them. Hawke would leave on foot, it was decided. He didn't want his companions travelling with him- they would be safer without him, and he would slip away more easily. Isabela's ship would draw any pursuers, but the Pirate Queen was too suave and skilled a captain to be caught any time soon.

Not even a word was said about where Fenris was going to go- with Hawke or with the rest of the companions. Isabela raised an eyebrow in silent question, but he just shook his head. He was going with Hawke- it was decided. Even if he had to trail the rogue like a beaten puppy, he was going with him. He was determined to become his shadow, even if he didn't want him.

The door closed behind the rest of the party, and then Fenris turned to Hawke.

"We need to talk," he said, something inside him demanding that they do with urgency that was bordering panic. He didn't like that cold, detached look on Hawke's face- not one bit. But Hawke simply shook his head, then took a few weary, exhausted steps and collapsed on a sofa.

Fenris took stock of him. There were deep lines of tiredness and bitterness bracketing his luscious mouth that was now tightened into a thin line, and his body was shaking. He realised his rogue was at the end of his rope, both physically and emotionally, and decided not to push the issue any more, not for now, not until Hawke had a few moments to catch his breath. Instead, he retreated to the bathing chamber and quickly removed his own sweaty, bloodstained armour and leather undertunic, then run a wet washcloth over his body. Taking a look at his face in the mirror, he splashed some water on his face and hair, until it came out clean and not tinted with red. He put on a pair of linen trousers and a tunic that belonged to Hawke, rolling up the too long sleeves.

Sudden inspiration struck, and he looked around for a basin. Filling it quickly with clean water, and grabbing a cloth, he returned to the room to see that Hawke had leaned back, and his eyes had closed; he seemed to have fallen asleep.

Kneeling by his side, he removed his boots, then silently, efficiently, tried to rid him of his clothes without waking him. Hawke grumbled a bit, then opened one eye to look at him, before he helped by rising slightly to allow Fenris to drag the tunic over his head and lay back again. Fenris observed him for a moment, startled at the contrast between the relatively clean parts of his body that had been covered by his clothes and armour and the blood soaked, gory rest of him. His long, elegant fingers, caked in dried blood, drew his attention and he raised one of the rogue's hands, running the wet washrag slowly along each finger.

He found a small wound on the back of Hawke's palm, and run his own finger down the length of it, before washing the blood away, tenderly, with the outmost care. Silence reigned in the dimly lit room, as he went about his task, cleaning one hand first, then moving to the other, gently, carefully, stopping only to wash the rag again. When he was done, the fingers of his own hand interlaced with Hawke's, as if of their own volition, and he raised his head to look at him- and a tender smile lit his face.

Hawke had fallen asleep again.

The first touch of the wet, cold washrag on the sweaty skin of the rogue's neck made him hiss, but then his head fell back with a groan of relief. Fenris' lip curled in another small smile as Hawke let him take care of him, raising one arm and then the next, titling his torso lightly to the side to allow him access, his eyes closed.

"You are absolutely filthy," he commended as he run the wet rag along the human's sweaty, blood stained torso, then along his face.

One eye opened to look at him. "Battling a crazed monster will do that to you," he said softly as the rag lovingly cleaned his face.

Fenris concentrated on his task, avoiding contact with Hawke's eyes. "Indeed," he dryly said. "You look exhausted as well."

"In more ways than one," Hawke commended, one corner of his mouth curling in a wry smile.

"I am sorry for causing you distress, Hawke," Fenris dared look in the human's eyes, afraid he would see coldness and detachment there. Instead, there was a little bit of anger and some fear in his gaze.

"I am expecting your apology, Fenris," he said.

"You shan't get, Hawke. I just saw the outcome of someone apologising to you while you are in this mood."

Hawke looked past Fenris, to the door. "I was a little harsh with him, wasn't I?" he cringed. "But he made me so angry, the self-righteous prick. He wanted Anders dead, but he didn't have the stones to do it himself- instead he demanded it- _demanded it, the prick!_ \- of me."

"I hate to hear what you will tell _me_ ," Fenris half-jested. "You seemed a lot angrier with me."

Hawke's eyes focused on his face, then his eyes closed on yet another weary sigh. "I was."

"But not anymore?"

A little shudder went through Hawke as the washrag trailed lower, over his chest and stomach. "A little."

"I did it to protect you."

"Who will protect me from you, though, I wonder?"

Fenris flinched back as if he was slapped. Hawke raised an eyebrow, and smiled wryly at the shocked, wide-eyed look on Fenris' face.

"You have the ability to hurt me like no other person in this world does, Fenris," Hawke softly explained. "And you do it, all the time."

"Cullen insisted that I shouldn't tell you of our plan. I wanted to. It nearly destroyed me to have you believing I betrayed you. But I had to pretend, so if things went terribly wrong, I could be close enough to the Knight-Commander to save you."

"And what if this thing between the mages and the templars had gone on for ten or twenty years?" Hawke scowled. "You would have continued lying to me all that time? You would have gone on, sleeping in my arms every night, then running off to Meredith to give her reports of me and my favourite positions in the morning? Or would you have joined the templars eventually?"

"If that was necessary, yes, I would have. Anything to ensure your safety. "

"I don't fucking need a nanny!"

Fenris looked into his eyes again, and saw that the anger had increased. The rogue's gaze was narrowed and his chin was raised high, and he realised, for the first time, that he had wounded Hawke's pride.

"I never insinuated that you did," he wrung the rag out, then returned it to calmly rub along Hawke's face again. "My obsessive need to protect what is mine has nothing to do with you- it is my shortcoming, not yours."

"You went behind my back, conspired with Cullen, lied to my face...do I need to go on?" A hand rose to grab onto his wrist making what was less a cleaning up and more a caress abruptly stop. "Fenris. You made me think you were betraying me. Do you even realise what that did to me?"

"I do," Fenris said, keeping his voice soft. "But I would have done much more to keep you safe."

A frustrated groan escaped the rogue. "I don't need you to keep me safe! I'm quite capable of doing it myself!"

Fenris' eyes started gleaming with anger. "Are you? You carried all the weight of the world on your shoulders. The mighty Champion of Kirkwall," he sneered, "spreading himself thin to keep everyone out of harm's way. What about you? Who would keep you protected?" he jabbed a finger in Hawke's chest. "Don't you think that I could see what this city was doing to you? Do you think me to be blind? What would have I done if you were to die, Hawke?"

Hawke shrugged and looked away. "I don't know...Probably go your merry way. You'd find someone else sooner or lat..."

Fenris stopped him, slipping his hands along his face, and forcing him to turn towards him again to look deep into those mercurial eyes. "Never. _Never_ , Hawke. _I am yours_."

Caught in the elf's intense gaze, all the human could do was gulp down his next breath and lick his suddenly dry lips. "I don't want you to be mine," he whispered, his eyes huge on his handsome face. "I don't want to be yours. This is not ownership we're talking about, Fenris."

A curse escaped the elf and he moved closer, his mouth ghosting over the human's. His voice dropped down to a husky, silky murmur. "Who said anything about ownership?"

"You did. ' _I am yours_.'" Hawke rolled his eyes. "So alright, it makes me harder than a rock hearing that, in that voice of yours, but I don't want you to be mine. I want you to fucking love me, not be my bodyguard, or my nanny, or follow me round like a damned dog. We're _equals_ in this, or we're _nothing_."

Fenris sighed. "You little _idiot_ ," he hissed before he leaned forward and captured the human's lips in a kiss that had all the want, all the passionate, desperate love in his heart poured in it. Hawke moaned under the assault, then his arms came up to hold him close, and he retaliated, adding his own dose of want and longing in the kiss. Lack of air made them pull away, their breaths panting, their bodies hardened to the point of pain, but not until the kiss had gone on for what seemed like hours.

Fenris leaned his forehead against Hawke's, trembling from head to toe. "When I say I am yours, Hawke, I mean that..."

"...you _that_ me?"

"Little idiot. You ruined it. I was about to say it."

Hawke's laughed, then he wrapped his arms tighter against the elf. "I _that_ you too."

Fenris sighed. "Something tells me this expression is going to be with us for a long time."

Hawke pulled back.

" _Us_? I haven't decide if there is going to be an _us_."

Fenris felt like a bucketful of cold water had just been thrown over his back. "But you just now said that you..."

Hawke got up, then walked the short distance to his window and looked out. "We are toxic to each other, Fenris. I think...I think you should get on Isabela's ship tonight. I don't think we should be together."

"You must be jesting."

"I'm dead serious, for once."

"Hawke...is this about what I did? Because I assure you, I only did it to..."

Hawke smiled his wry half smile. "I believe you. But...I can't go on the run with a man that I can't fully trust or that doesn't fully trust me."

" I trust you with my life," Fenris protested, his body held rigidly still. His markings started thumbing with his furious heartbeat. Maker. He was losing Hawke. He was going to lose Hawke after all. Just when he had relaxed and thought that they had gotten over this...damn it.

"Tell you what..." Hawke said. "Go home. Sleep on it. Think very hard on what you want to do and then, if you decide that you truly, _really_ want to be with me, no secrets, no bullshit...I'll leave around dawn. Be here."

As Fenris gathered his clothes and weapons, wincing at having to put on the soiled, bloodstained armour again, he kept sneaking covert looks to Hawke, not sure of what to say. There was a distance that was suddenly insurmountable between them, a brick wall that separated them- and Fenris realised, with a pang of pain, that love didn't necessarily mean two people would be together. There were some things that even love couldn't survive-and loss of trust was one of them.

He turned to talk to the rogue one last time as he was going through the door, prepared to even beg of he had to...but Hawke's eyes were closed. He was either sleeping or pretending to, and Fenris stood there for a few long moments, looking at him, pain making his insides twist.

Would this be the last time he saw his Gabriel?

Fenris gulped down his breath. As the door closed behind him and a gust of wind ruffled his hair, his head suddenly cleared, and hid decision was suddenly made. He didn't need to think anything over, or make any heartfelt declarations. He was going to be here at dawn come rain or high water. In fact, he wasn't even going to go home. He was going to sleep right here, outside Hawke' door, because he didn't trust the little idiot not to try and slip away in the middle of the night...

He stood still as a statue and shot the house behind him an incredulous look.

If that harebrained little fool was testing him somehow, he would tan his behind. Period. He settled down in an alley across his house, his green eyes focused on the door, waiting patiently.

* * *

He wasn't disappointed. Just an hour or so later, Hawke slipped out of his house, laden down with bags and packs, his dog behind him.

He stepped out of the shadows, scowling.

"Are you going somewhere, Hawke?"

The rogue, who had leaned down to tell his dog something, straightened up slowly, then turned around with a look of surprise on his face.

"Shit."

"Precisely."

"Look, Fenris," Hawke held out his hands to stop the elf that was advancing on him with a murderous look of anger on his face. "It's for your own good. I'm going to be a hunted man, and you have lived like this for too long. I can't do this to...umph"

His words were caught short by a vicious, violent kiss, a kiss that was as angry as it was passionate. Fenris attacked his mouth with the same ferocity he showed in battle, no mercy, no quarter given- and Hawke responded with his own passionate attack, moaning into his mouth, teeth clanging together, tongues battling for dominance.

The mabari's whine interrupted them, and Hawke shook his head to clear it.

"Right, then," he said, looking at his dog. "Change of plans. I was going to tell you to go to this moron here, Hector, but...hmmm...go to Varric, my boy, and stay with him. He'll take care of you. Be a good boy, now, and listen to Varric, alright?"

He bent down to put his arms around the massive wardog, then scratched behind his ears. The dog looked at him and whined pitifully, but Hawke just smiled. "No crying, now. Big mabaris don't cry. Varric will find you a couple of nice bitches, and you'll father me some pups. Agreed?"

An excited woof answered him, and the dog took off. Hawke straightened up slowly, looking at his retreating mabari with a sad look on his face. "Farewell, old friend," he whispered.

Fenris watched the huge dog disappear down the street. "You're leaving your mabari behind?"

"I was planning on leaving everyone behind."

"Even me?" Fenris scowled.

"Especially you," Hawke looked up to the sky.

"I go where you go, Hawke. We have wasted enough time."

"What makes you think I want you with me?" Hawke asked with a small teasing smile.

"I didn't ask you, Hawke, I simply stated a fact: where you go, I follow." Fenris folded his arms across his chest.

"Even if I tell you to leave?" the tall rogue paused to look at Fenris, tilting his head to the side, as if he was checking for something.

"Yes."

"Even if I don't want you?" An eyebrow rose at that, and a small grin curled the man's mouth.

"You do- but yes, Hawke, even if you don't."

"Why?"

That gave Fenris pause and a blush spread on his cheeks. "You know why."

Hawke rolled his eyes, but that small grin grew a little wider, now showing just a hint of straight, white teeth. "Sheez, must I drag it out of you?"

"Apparently. The best method is a kiss."

Hawke struggled against the wide grin that wanted to split his face in two and crossed his arms on his chest. "I'd rather kiss my Uncle Gamlen."

"That is just disturbing."

They continued bickering like this, teasing each other jovially, and without realising it, they had soon left Kirkwall behind. By the time night rolled around, they were still at it, teasing and flirting, dancing around the words that they both wanted to say. Stubborn, wilful creatures that they both were, they each wanted to make the other one admit it first- and so the game went on.

But Hawke could not take it anymore and it was in the middle of the night that he pushed against Fenris' shoulder, his eyes silvery and liquid like mercury in the light of the fire.

"I probably shouldn't be saying this..."

"Probably not."

"...and I know I might live to regret it..."

"Bitterly."

"...because Maker knows, you're not the easiest person to live with..."

"I am an angel and you know it."

"...hahaha, Fenris...but here goes. I love you, you blighted idiot. I never stopped loving you. I never will. There. I've lost. Or won. Whatever."

A grin split Fenris' face, before his eyes hooded with something that made Hawke's blood run hot and bubbly in his vein. With a groan, the elf leaned towards him, and captured the rogue's lips in a kiss that was hotter than molten lava, full of yearning and desire.

"Won't you say it, too?" Hawke pouted, and Fenris found the perfect opportunity to worry that full lip with his teeth, until the rogue had no choice but to grant him entrance. "Not even now?"

"No," he finally said. "I plan to show you." he then pulled back to look into Hawke's eyes, his gaze soft, filled with love and acceptance. "I imagine it will take me about fifty years or so."

A wide, joyous smile dimpled Hawke's cheeks and made his eyes sparkle.

"Don't rush on my account," he shrugged and bent down to kiss the elf as well.

"Oh, I don't plan to."

* * *

Hours later, Hawke smiled contently as the small fire helped dry the sweat on his body. He stretched, his whole body feeling relaxed and languid in the aftermath of what had been the best sex of his life. His skin still tingling in remembered pleasure, his whole body still vibrating, he buried his nose in the white hair of the elf sleeping next to him, and drew in a long, deep breath, enjoying the unique smell of his lover- lyrium, sweat, armour oil and some exotic spicy scent that was purely Fenris.

One hand was resting on the elf's slim hip, as Fenris used him as a pillow, the other was drawing absent-minded circles on the skin of his back, while Hawke looked up at the night sky, bright with millions of stars. A wide smile was curling his lips; he couldn't help it. He mouthed a thank you to the Maker, then prepared to close his eyes, drawing a blanket over them both, when Fenris stirred a little in his arms, and his head burrowed even deeper in the crook of his neck.

Hawke's smile grew even wider. Fenris made those adorable snorting little sounds in his sleep- not exactly a snore, but close. He bent his head to lay a kiss on his the top of his head, the elf's white hair tickling his nose, when Fenris stirred again.

"Hawke," he mumbled in his sleep.

"Shhh. Sleep."

"I will if you stop moving around," the elven warrior grumbled- a chuckle answered him, and another kiss on his head- tender, caring, full of love.

"I love you too, incidentally," Fenris whispered, half between sleep and consciousness, and smiled a little when he heard Hawke gasp in surprise.

"Incidentally? Oh, for fuck's sake, don't you quit with the five-sovereign words even half-asleep?"

Fenris felt something tickling the back of his throat, some sound he wasn't used to making- when it came out, he was surprised to find it was a laugh- full, hearty, glorious.

Hawke started laughing with him. The fire died out, and still they were chuckling together, only the stars above witnessing their happiness.

"Sleep, Fenris," Hawke whispered in the end, laughter still in his voice. "The day tomorrow will be long."

"Indubitably."

"Oh, for the love of... Just shut the fuck up."

The end.


End file.
